| This is us on a western Atlantic coast
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| With no place to be, just taking in the sea
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| Tonight with a constant buzz, we’re staring at the ocean crashing on
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| All the rocks below cold in this foreign home
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| This old story
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| When we’re gone I’ll feel I’ve never missed anyone
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| You lay in the grass along the edge
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| ‽Is this a dream?", you ask and I don’t say anything
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| 'Cause this may be a dream
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| And we come to this place like two convicts that have escaped
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| From the prison of everyday and for the moment we’ll have our stay
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| This old story
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| When we’re gone I’ll feel I’ve never missed anyone
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| You lay in the grass along the edge
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| From this cliff’s edge the gulls fly below us
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| Diving into the sea below us, below us
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| And I’m not cold tonight beside you, beside you
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| And we’re not cold tonight
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| This old story
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| When we’re gone I’ll feel I’ve never missed anyone
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| This old story
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| Expatriate, you’re coming home
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| This old story
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| When we’re gone I’ll feel I’ve never missed anyone
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| This old story
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| Expatriate, you’re coming home
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| You’re coming home
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| You’re coming home
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| You’re coming home
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| You’re coming home
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| You’re coming |