| The sick patch on the carpet, the night we drank too much
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| The gravy stains on the Belling Stove, it misses the woman’s touch
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| The hair on the soap, the make-up in the sink
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| The toothbrush that you left behind, it makes me stop and think
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| There’s a ghost, in my bedsit, of how it used to be
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| There’s a ghost n my bedsit, and it keeps on haunting me
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| The scratches on my records, from where you left them on the floor
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| The dirty clothes in my washing bag, when you went out of the door
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| Now I’m sitting all alone, and the silence burns my ears
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| Memories dance around my head, every second seems like years
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| The presence in my bedsit, that just won’t go away
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| Like the stains on my duvet, from the nights you used to stay
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| Programmes we watched together, I’ve still got the video
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| And the telephone still rings for you from friends who do not know |