| It’s like a foreign movie where the lights are dim
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| He’s in love with her, but she can’t see him
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| It makes him sometimes feel like he don’t exist
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| But the memories linger of the times they kissed
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| He still loves her and it’s tearing him apart
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| And he don’t know whether to hide his heart
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| It’s like a book he read that Jane Austen wrote
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| When she’s near his heart starts bumping inside his throat
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| Well he’s a wounded man and a suffering fool
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| But love is mercurial and life is cruel
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| He loves her and it’s tearing him apart
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| And he don’t know whether to hide his heart
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| He don’t know whether to hide his heart
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| And when he drives past the Tower of London
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| Or walks down the Champs Elysees
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| Or has lunch with Jackie Onassis
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| His mind is a million miles away
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| He feels so tres deshabille
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| He loves her he loves her
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| And it’s tearing him apart
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| He don’t know whether to hide his heart
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| He don’t know whether to hide his heart
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| So now she’s found somebody that she loves more
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| And he’s an outtake on the cutting room floor
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| She’s an actress who has quit the stage
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| He’s a mystery novel with a torn out page
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| She is leaving and it’s tearing him apart
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| He don’t know whether to hide his heart
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| He don’t know whether to hide his heart
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| He don’t know whether to hide his heart
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| She makes him feel so ordure blanc |