| Good times and bad times, the love that we shared
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| Now you sleep on the sofa and I don’t care
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| Times I’d reach for your hand and you’d always be there
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| So what we can we do but divide up our books
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| And our records and field all our friends' funny looks
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| You take the TV and I’ll take the bed or a chair
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| I found an old photo from when we first met
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| When I still wore your clothes and we’d just stay in bed
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| On Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays I’d skip work for you instead
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| Oh love is a rock, not a straight jacket
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| Love is an unmade bed
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| Oh love is a rock, not a straight jacket
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| Love is an unmade bed
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| You and me babe, we’re a vaudeville show
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| All jazz hands and kisses, nobody would know
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| Dying inside, but always a life and a soul
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| Like brother and sister, none closer than we
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| When you say that you’re tired, I’m secretly relieved
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| But I try to see you again
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| To see you like the first time
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| And sometimes I glimpse us before we were us
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| Before we had bills, before we had stuff
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| Before we bought suitable wine for our meals
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| And bought records instead
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| Oh love is a rock, not a straight jacket
|
| Love is an unmade bed
|
| Oh love is a rock, not a straight jacket
|
| Yeah, love is an unmade bed
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| Doo doo doo
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| I see you again in a year, maybe two
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| At a wedding or birthday and you have moved on
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| And just for a moment I choke
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| Then the moment is gone
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| Just for a second I’ll question it
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| All nostalgic and trying to hide it
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| Then I’ll snuff out that thought in this manner
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| The issue decided |