| I still care about Christian
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| Does he care about me?
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| When I see him around he looks down,
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| afraid of what he’ll see
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| And I know there’s a heaven
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| that he’s trying to find
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| But it’s hell that he makes, callous and afraid
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| of the ones he’s left behind
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| And the touch of his body, so tender and cruel,
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| when he made me play girlfriend,
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| there wasn’t much I could do
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| He’d come to my garret,
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| and we’d make something like love
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| But the flowers he gave me have wilted,
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| but I keep them, like I keep him
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| He wants a life after life
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| But the world he didn’t love,
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| and the one he didn’t love
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| should have been
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| Night after night
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| But the world he didn’t love,
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| and the one he didn’t love
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| will never know
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| paradise
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| When he makes his confessions,
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| when he says his prayers
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| and kneels beside his bed in the moonlight,
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| is a part of me there?
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| He’s taken up with a new girl,
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| who keeps his conscience clean,
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| and tells him he’s a keeper,
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| though I don’t know if he knows what that means |