| It was summer when she moved in
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| And it was winter when she moved out again
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| And the sky was usually blue
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| And the single bed was big enough for two
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| It’s funny the things that stay with you
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| Her jewellery on the table and the smell of her perfume
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| The candle wax on the carpet, singing in the supermarket
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| And the wall paper in her bedroom
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| I’ll never understand how it happened like this
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| I drew an open hand and she drew a fist
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| I drew an arrow and a heart, she drew a razor and a wrist
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| She said 'I love you when it’s sunny'
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| But the sun refused to shine
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| And I was crucified on the clothes line
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| She stole a magazine from the laundromat
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| Did it weigh upon her conscience as it lay upon her lap
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| The body is willing but the mind is weak
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| The champagne is chilling and the wine is cheap
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| The milk was always spilling and we cried ourselves to sleep
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| It was summer when she moved in
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| And it was winter when she moved house again
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| The boxes on the floor
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| And the note that she pinned to my door
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| This house is made of sticks
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| This house is made of straw
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| This house is made of bricks
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| This house is made of weatherboard |