| Tell me, is love still a popular suggestion
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| Or merely an obsolete art?
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| Forgive me for asking a simple question
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| I’m unfamiliar with his heart
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| I’m a stranger here myself
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| Why is it wrong to murmur I adore him
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| When it’s shamefully obvious I do?
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| Does love embarrass him or does it bore him?
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| I’m only waiting for my cue
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| 'Cause I’m a stranger here myself
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| I dream of a day, of a gay warm day
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| With my face between his hands
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| Have I missed the path? |
| Have I gone astray?
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| I ask, and no one understands
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| Love me or leave me, that seems to be the question
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| I don’t know the tactics to use
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| But if he offers a personal suggestion
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| How could I possibly refuse
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| When I’m a stranger here myself?
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| Please tell me, tell a stranger
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| By curiosity goaded
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| Is there really any danger
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| That love is now outmoded?
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| I’m interested especially
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| In knowing why you waste it
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| True romance is so fleshly
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| With what have you replaced it?
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| What is your latest foible?
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| Is gin rummy more exquisite?
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| Is skiing more enjoyable?
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| For Heaven’s sake, what is it?
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| I can’t believe that love has lost its glamor
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| That passion is really passé
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| If gender is just a word in grammar
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| How can I ever find my way
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| When I’m a stranger here myself?
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| How can he ignore my available condition?
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| Why these Victorian views?
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| You see here before you a woman with a mission
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| I must discover the key to his ignition
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| And if he should make a dramatic proposition
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| How could I possibly refuse?
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| How could I possibly refuse
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| When I’m a stranger here myself? |