| The last night of the fair
|
| By the big wheel generator
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| A boy is stabbed and his money is grabbed
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| And the air hangs heavy like a dulling wine
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| She is famous, she is funny
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| An engagement ring doesn’t mean a thing
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| To a mind consumed by brass money
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| And though I walk home alone
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| I might walk home alone
|
| But my faith in love is still devout
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| The last night of the fair
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| From a seat on a whirling waltzer
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| Her skirt ascends for a watching eye
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| It’s a hideous trait on her mother’s side
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| From a seat on a whirling waltzer
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| Her skirt ascends for a watching eye
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| It’s a hideous trait on her mother’s side
|
| And though I walk home alone
|
| I might walk home alone
|
| But my faith in love is still devout
|
| Then someone falls in love
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| And someone’s beaten up, someone’s beaten up
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| And the senses being dulled are mine
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| And someone falls in love
|
| And someone’s beaten up
|
| And the senses being dulled are mine
|
| And though I walk home alone
|
| I might walk home alone
|
| But my faith in love is still devout
|
| This is the last night of the fair
|
| And the grease in the hair
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| Of a speedway operator
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| Is all a tremulous heart requires
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| A schoolgirl is denied
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| She said: «How quickly would I die
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| If I jumped from the top of the parachutes?»
|
| This is the last night of the fair
|
| And the grease in the hair
|
| Of a speedway operator
|
| Is all a tremulous heart requires
|
| A schoolgirl is denied
|
| She said: «How quickly would I die
|
| If I jumped from the top of the parachutes?»
|
| So scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen
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| (This means you really love me)
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| Scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen
|
| (This means you really love me)
|
| And though I walk home alone
|
| I just might walk home alone
|
| But my faith in love is still devout
|
| I might walk home alone
|
| But my faith in love is still devout
|
| I might walk home alone
|
| But my faith in love is still devout |