| We’ve played our hand at love before
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| We’ve been around the game enough to know the score
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| But then is then
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| And now is now
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| And now is all that matters anyhow
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| Make believe it’s your first time
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| Leave your sadness behind
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| Make believe it’s your first time
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| And I’ll make believe it’s mine
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| I’ve been courted and escorted by so many men
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| As for fear of cold rejection
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| I have none
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| There were avant garde composers
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| Even dees and dem and dosers
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| It was fun
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| But off all the many faces
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| And the whiskey-breath embraces
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| There was one
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| It was not exactly Paris
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| It was not exactly srping
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| But it was Beaujolais and flowers
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| Double beds and double showers
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| And the passion that his kisses used to bring
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| It was not exactly Paris
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| I was not exactly young
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| But on a quiet night
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| With the door locked tight
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| When the silence weighs a ton
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| Of all the men in my life
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| I remember one
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| It was not exactly Venice
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| Never heard a mandolin
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| But it was kisses and linguine
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| Set to Mercer and Mancini
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| And it was boating in the park and falling in
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| It was not exactly marriage |
| Didn’t have the longest run
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| But in my heart of hearts
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| When the twilight stars
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| And the long, long day is done
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| Of all the men in my life
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| I remember one |