| Fully covered up on an oily beach
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| A flat or apartment, just a little out of reach
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| An ignorance of language but a love of speech
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| Costa Del Sombre
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| Deliberately using words he knows are incorrect
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| Broken English brings a kind of new respect
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| When he tries to say he’s sorry in local dialect
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| The gulf between
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| She was sort of lonely
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| He was lonely too
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| So when they both took to the dance floor
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| They knew just what to do
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| Yes, sir, he could boogie
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| But she could boogie too
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| The steps she’d been saving up
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| Since 1972
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| Desperate little feeling that you lost in life
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| That every minute ex-husband gains a second wife
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| That the sun that blinds you now one day will twist the knife
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| Costa Del Sombre
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| Speaking different language but it’s loud and clear
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| The dark eyes of the picador are about to spear
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| It’s the very reason she feels so wanted here
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| The gulf between
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| Halfway to Villa Verde
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| From the old village green
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| Coaxing conversation
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| To sombrero dreams
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| When conversation’s lively
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| And home life’s so dull
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| And the sun burns up your face
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| Just yards from your skull |