| Sarah wrote epistles on the subject of despair
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| on the only night last year when there was no love in the air.
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| Listen friend she wrote, and I heard her pen cry before it broke.
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| Who are we and why, oh why can’t we behave?
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| We are good people, aren’t we? |
| Do you know?
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| Jon-jon had surprising eyes and narrow black suede shows,
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| a war to fight in Paris and a sister with the blues.
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| Pusique ton papa est en voyage you’ve heard your mother making
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| love is not what we are Jon-jon, you and I
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| are rats at cupids table but we’re fine.
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| In the darkest corner of a downstairs gathering
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| ladybirds and pirate cowboys, made up, conversing.
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| Islands sinking from musicians, bedtime stories, York Magicians,
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| but you don’t have to worry darling, frozen hearts leave
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| seetrough scarring, and no one else will know unless you tell.
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| Drink to ghosts of past years' catastrophic love affairs,
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| to robes of red and silver tales worn thin from too much care.
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| Comfort doesn’t always come in glasses, but perhaps tonight
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| I won’t be the only one with blue headlights.
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| Come on ladies, take your love to town.
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| Pick it up boys, take your love to town.
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| Everybody, take your love to town. |