| I’ve told so many stories that my mind pretends
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| Falsehoods are my brothers
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| They’re my good friends
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| And big sad tears
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| They’re my next of kin
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| But anytime you want me to
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| I can be genuine
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| Just sit me in front of an unbroken spinet
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| On a ladder back-chair with my face to the sun
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| I’ll make you heartbreaking rhymes
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| I’ll give you pleasure sometimes
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| And I can tell a lie
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| But I just can’t sing one
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| I was born in a house where the windows were wide
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| And the lovin' indoors it matched the livin' outside
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| Our mornings they were early they were noisy and fine
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| Would you like to believe a song of mine?
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| Then all you’ve got to do is just
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| Just sit me in front of an unbroken spinet
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| On a ladder back-chair with my face to the sun
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| I’ll make you heartbreaking rhymes
|
| I’ll give you pleasure sometimes
|
| And I can tell a lie
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| But I just can’t sing one
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| There’s a woman in my feather-bed
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| She’s wearin' honeysuckle perfume
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| And ribbons of red
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| She’s lets her hair hang
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| Her eyes are cornflower blue
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| And if you don’t think this story rings true |
| Just sit me in front of an unbroken spinet
|
| On a ladder back-chair with my face to the sun
|
| I’ll make you heartbreaking rhymes
|
| I’ll give you pleasure sometimes
|
| And I can tell a lie
|
| But I just can’t sing one |