| I saw your haircut in a storefront:
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| The choppy sides and perfect bangs
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| I loved the way it framed the model’s cheekbones
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| And the blank expression on her face
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| So I went inside and tried to buy it
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| But I got told, «It's not for sale.»
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| I got embarrassed and I decked the sales clerk
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| I stole the wig and ran like hell
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| So I figured I would come and show you
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| So I kept running towards your house
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| Then, I remembered I don’t know your address
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| At least, not the place you sleep at now
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| So I hurried home to get collected
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| To let the red flush from my face
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| I took out my notebook and I sketched you smiling
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| I like look at you that way
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| Then, I put your haircut in my closet
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| Next to the t-shirts and those cards you sent
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| I turned my lights out and I sunk in slowly
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| Counting sheep and breathing hard again
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| When it comes, it’s ways too quickly
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| And it busts apart the faith I’ve grown
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| See, I can’t stop myself from hurting you
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| So I guess I won’t |