| caroline laughs and it’s raining all day
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| she loves to be one of the girls
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| she lives in the place in the side of our lives
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| where nothing is ever put straight
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| she turns her self round and
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| she smiles and she says
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| this is it that’s the end of the joke
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| and loses herself in her dreaming and sleep
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| and her lovers walk through in their coats
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| pretty in pink isn’t she
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| pretty in pink
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| isn’t she
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| all of her lovers all talk of her notes
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| and the flowers that they never sent
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| and wasn’t she easy
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| and isn’t she pretty in pink
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| the one who insists he was first in the line
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| is the last to remember her name
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| he’s walking around in this dress that she wore
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| she is gone but the joke’s the same
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| pretty in pink isn’t she
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| pretty in pink
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| isn’t she
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| caroline talks to you softly sometimes
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| she says «i love you"and «too much»
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| she doesn’t have anything you want to steal
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| well nothing you can touch
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| she waves
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| she buttons your shirt
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| the traffic is waiting outside
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| she hands you this coat
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| she gives you her clothes
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| these cars collide
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| pretty in pink isn’t she
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| pretty in pink
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| isn’t she
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| confidence is in the sea
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| and all their favorite rags are worn
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| and other kinds of uniform
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| they kid you you’re really free
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| and you know what you want to be case of individuality
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| until tomorrow
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| and everything you are you’ll see
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| in pure shiny buttons
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| they put you in this gear
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| and driveways broken
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| doorbell sings in chimes
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| it plays anything goes
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| bells toll in rhyme |