| This house is so clean;
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| Glass tables spread with new magazines
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| Can I stay for a week?
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| You can kick me out when I break something
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| From the guest room I see
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| Your garden stretch out, it’s like oceans of green
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| The maid calls me for tea
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| And the tiles depict Mediterranean scenes
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| And it’s all been added up
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| Laid so a life can lean on it
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| So please don’t bring that up
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| No one wants to hear that shit
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| Every night in my dreams
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| I lift glass figurines from a shelf in the hall
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| Each delicate piece
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| When I pick it up it just can’t help but fall
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| I can’t hold anything
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| All machines, clothes and cars they just crumble and break
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| When they touch my hand
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| 'Cause I feel like I’m holding the hand that made them that way
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| But this house is beautiful
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| You could live long lives in it
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| Please don’t be so dutiful
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| No one wants to hear that shit |