| When I was a child they said I could write
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| But I just wrote poems about colours
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| The rainbow from red to blue
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| a paragraph for every hue
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| When I closed my eyes I saw red, not black, it’s true —
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| a riding hood, pale skin in summer —
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| the darkness shone with crimson light
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| It warmed me in my bed at night
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| but I still wrote about colours
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| Though I wasn’t kissed until I was eighteen
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| I learned how to make love to you in my dreams
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| That’s how I make you feel like you do
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| when you do
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| Valenteen
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| No great beauty, I stayed a child
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| while my friends were going wild
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| While they paired off two by two
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| the secret garden overgrew
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| The branches and the window touched
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| The vines came in
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| it was too much
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| I set a fire, burned alive —
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| the garden shone with crimson light
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| Though I wasn’t kissed until I was eighteen
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| I learned how to make love to you in my dreams
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| That’s how I make you feel like you do
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| when you do
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| Valenteen
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| You and I have loved before
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| Maybe we’ve loved even more
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| Maybe we will love again before our lives come to their end
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| Well if past, present, future run on parallel lines
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| I steal my love across all times
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| Gladly I resort to theft —
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| let’s spend it 'til there’s nothing left |