| Every time I think that I’m the only one who’s lonely
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| Someone calls on me
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| And every now and then I spend my time in rhyme and verse
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| And curse those faults in me
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| And then along comes Mary
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| And does she want to give me kicks
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| And be my steady chick and give me pick of memories
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| Or maybe rather gather tales
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| From all the fails and tribulations no one ever sees
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| When we met I was sure out to lunch
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| Now, my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch
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| When vague desire is the fire in the eyes of chicks
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| Whose sickness is the games they play
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| And when the masquerade is played the neighbor folks make jokes
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| At who is most to blame today
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| And then along comes Mary
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| And does she want to set them free
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| And let them see reality from where she got her name
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| And will they struggle much when told
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| That such a tender touch as hers will make them not the same?
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| When we met I was sure out to lunch
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| Now, my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch
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| And when the morning of the warning’s passed
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| The gassed and flaccid kids are flung across the stars
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| The psychodramas and the traumas gone
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| The songs are left unsung and hung upon the scars
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| And then along comes Mary
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| And does she want to see the stains
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| The dead remains of all the pains she left the night before
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| Or will their waking eyes reflect the lies
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| And make them realize their urgent cry for sight no more?
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| When we met I was sure out to lunch
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| Now, my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch
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| Sweet as the punch (Sweet as the punch)
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| Sweet as the punch (Sweet as the punch)
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| Sweet as the punch (Sweet as the punch)
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| Sweet as the punch |