| Four white smoke stacks saw you standing alone
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| On a platform in miserable weather
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| I can hear through the cracks in your voice on the phone
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| We’re no closer to being together
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| Just the thought of those sighs and your cold hands and skin
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| Make the muscles around my heart tighten
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| I get dust in my eyes just as soundcheck begins
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| And you’re boarding a train bound for Brighton, for Brighton
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| Tired and frozen the path that we’ve chosen
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| It seems like a circular maze
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| Divided by wedges I’m betting our hedges
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| Will keep us both in here for days and days and days and days
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| Pints in small barrooms and leaves on the tracks
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| Not a second of sunlight outdoors
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| Versus thin walls and carfumes and CDs in stacks
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| Sleeping on kind aquaintances' floors
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| Pencil a date and then patiently wait
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| Incubating the plans that we’ve laid
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| Across oceans and nations, airports and bus stations
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| Eventual connections are made, their made
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| Tired and frozen the path that we’ve chosen
|
| It seems like a circular maze
|
| Divided by wedges I’m betting our hedges
|
| Will keep us both in here for days, and
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| Nights spent alone walking blind towards home
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| Holding fast to the things we believe in
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| Like this dream I can’t shake
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| It’s the one where we wake to the sound of familiar
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| Breathing, breathe in, breathe in |