Yes, her waist bends on me.
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Dirty thoughts in her head.
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There is music in the room, a sweet cloud of smoke.
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And we are on fire.
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As if, here in the world of silent phrases, it is deaf.
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She moves like morning.
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There is a mess on the bed, but lead me like this.
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We're seeing the sunset.
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Yes, her waist bends on me.
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Dirty thoughts in her head.
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There is music in the room, a sweet cloud of smoke.
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And we are on fire.
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As if, here in the world of silent phrases, it is deaf.
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She moves like morning.
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There is a mess on the bed, but lead me like this.
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Seeing off the sunset in the morning.
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It's so cold in these yards.
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Two layers under the shirt.
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There are too many eyes here.
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Come to me, yes, fuck them.
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In this space, we are from other planets.
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And both are waiting for that collision of our comets.
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And so the hearts beat that.
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For my entire neighborhood to hear.
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Your smell, figure, eyes.
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From 15 it blows my mind.
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And to hell with all these words.
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After all, tenderness does not move us.
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There are other things here.
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Animal instinct, we look closer.
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Let's fly together.
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Mobile off, we hardly have time for games.
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Let them search and we are not alo.
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Flying carpet under your feet.
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In what the mother gave birth and to the mountains.
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And what's going down.
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At the moment, we are by no means fucked.
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Yes, her waist bends on me.
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Dirty thoughts in her head.
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There is music in the room, a sweet cloud of smoke.
|
And we are on fire.
|
As if, here in the world of silent phrases, it is deaf.
|
She moves like morning.
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There is a mess on the bed, but lead me like this.
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Seeing off the sunset, in the morning. (x2)
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Yes, her waist bends on me...
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Sweet cones stick to the baby's hands... |