| I never learned to spell
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| At least not well
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| I never learned to count
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| A great amount
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| But my busy mind is burning
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| To use what learning I’ve got
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| I won’t waste any time
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| I’ll strike while the iron is hot
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| If they asked me, I could write a book
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| About the way you walk and whisper and look
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| I could write a preface on how we met
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| So the world would never forget
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| And the simple secret of the plot
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| Is just to tell them that I love you a lot
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| Then the world discovers as my book ends
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| How to make two lovers a friend
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| Use to hate to go to school
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| I never cracked a book;
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| I played the hook
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| Never answered any mail;
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| To write I used to think was wasting ink
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| It was never my endeavor
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| To be too clever and smart
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| Now I suddenly feel
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| A longing to write in my heart
|
| If they asked me, I could write a book
|
| About the way you walk and whisper and look
|
| I could write a preface on how we met
|
| So the world would never forget
|
| And the simple secret of the plot
|
| Is just to tell them that I love you a lot
|
| Then the world discovers as my book ends
|
| How to make two lovers a friend |