| You can’t erase the paper chase
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| She’ll make you players in the bright merry morning
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| She’ll run and hide and leave you the paper
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| Promises behind her as she runs across the square
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| You can’t win the race, she will set the pace
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| You’ll hear her laughing just behind the foolish fences
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| Throw back the gate and find the piece of paper
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| Lying on the curbstone but the lady won’t be there
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| And later in the day, you will be searching for a way
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| To let her know you’re ready for her little game to end
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| 'Cause it’s getting dark and then
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| You’ll see her face, a glimpse of lace
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| And you’ll go running through the last sweet dying daydreams
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| Calling her name but she’s been home an hour
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| Laughing at the mirror as she combs her paper hair
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| And later in the day, you will be searching for a way
|
| To let her know you’re ready for her little game to end
|
| 'Cause it’s getting dark and then
|
| You’ll see her face, a glimpse of lace
|
| And you’ll go running through the last sweet dying daydreams
|
| Calling her name but she’s been home an hour |
| Laughing at the mirror as she combs her paper hair |