| Mirrors in the room go black and blue
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| On a Sunday morning in Saturday shoes
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| We don’t choose who we love
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| We don’t choose
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| Lots of wild memory melt on the street
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| In a Sunday shoes, with the Saturday feet
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| And she don’t love who she chose
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| And she don’t need what she do
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| Daylight comes in exposin'
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| Saturday bruises and cold roses
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| Cold roses
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| Nothin' but the sunlight’ll help you grow from underneath your bed
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| You can’t see the window
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| We don’t choose what we see
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| We don’t choose
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| Fortunate and angry just like a child
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| All that money buys you, medicine but can’t buy you time
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| We don’t choose what we love
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| And she don’t need what she got
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| Daylight comes in exposin'
|
| Saturday bruises and cold roses
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| Cold roses, cold roses
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| Cold roses, cold roses, cold roses |