| Red is my favorite color
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| Red like your mother’s eyes after a while
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| Of crying about how you don’t love her
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| She says, «I know I don’t deserve supervised sight of her
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| But each day becomes a blur without my daughter.»
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| Fall is my favorite season like falling to reasoning why
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| You crashed from on high
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| She says, «Why is my life so uneven?
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| And what have I done right but given you your life
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| If after I led you on into that bar room
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| Into that bar room»
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| Yes is my favorite answer
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| I took a dancer home, she felt so alone
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| We stayed up all night in the kitchen doing my dishes
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| On and on till the dawn
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| She said, «I know it’s easy to have me
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| But I have seen some things that I cannot even tell to my family pictures
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| And I’m full of fictions and fucking addictions and I miss my mother.»
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| She’ll never know I could never forget her
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| If I could write her a letter I’d try with every line
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| To say she still remembers your touch
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| And I know that it’s not much
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| I know that it’s not much
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| I know that it’s not much, but you still haven’t lost her
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| You still haven’t lost her
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| You still haven’t lost her
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| You still haven’t lost her
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| Not yet |