| My love she speaks like silence
|
| Without ideals of violence
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| She doesn’t have to say she’s faithful
|
| Yet she’s true, like ice, like fire
|
| People carry roses
|
| Make promises by the hours
|
| My love she laughs like the flowers
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| Valentines can’t buy her
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| In the dime stores and bus stations
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| People talk of situations
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| Read books, repeat quotations
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| Draw conclusions on the wall
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| Some speak of the future
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| My love she speaks softly
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| She knows there’s no success like failure
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| And that failure’s no success at all
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| The bridge at midnight trembles
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| The country doctor rambles
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| Bankers, nieces, seek perfection
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| Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring
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| The wind howls like a hammer
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| The night blows cold and rainy
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| My love, she’s like some raven
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| At my window with a broken wing
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| My love speaks like silence
|
| Without ideals of violence
|
| She doesn’t have to say she’s faithful
|
| Yet she’s true, like ice, like fire
|
| People carry roses
|
| Make promises by the hours
|
| My love she laughs like the flowers
|
| Valentines can’t buy her |