| When the sun is shining in winter times
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| Onto the snow covered hills
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| That I see looking out of my window
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| I feel a certain chill
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| When I walk down the deserted streets
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| With no one there but my memories
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| Coming to that house where it all began
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| When I look through the blinded windows
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| Though I can’t see a lot I know it still shows
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| The last scene of a play we shouldn’t have staged
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| If I were you I wouldn’t be so eager
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| To tell them things they already know
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| If I were you I’d go and try
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| To live as I preach, so that it shows
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| If I were you I wouldn’t go on talking
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| About the things I barely understand
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| If I were you I’d get their help
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| To find out about who I really am
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| I think of you and all the others
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| Who lived through all the glory of ours
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| But in the end we couldn’t get what we wanted from it
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| When I think back to these exciting times
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| I’m still sure we could have gotten it right
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| But maybe it was just a play we shouldn’t have staged
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| If I were you I wouldn’t be so eager
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| To tell them things they already know
|
| If I were you I’d go and try
|
| To live as I preach, so that it shows
|
| If I were you I wouldn’t go on talking
|
| About the things I barely understand
|
| If I were you I’d get their help
|
| To find out about who I really am
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| Who I really am
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| Who I am
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| Who I really am
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| Who I am
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| Who I am
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| Who I am |