| Could you say that again babe
|
| Not heard that one before
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| You’re looking four years older
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| You’re looking for the door
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| I lipsticked «Fuck You» on the mirror
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| As a mark of my respect
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| And wandered out into the street
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| Well, what the hell did you expect
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| And the old laundrette is hissing our song
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| Like it, it doesn’t give a damn
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| And the cars are all french kissing
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| In some lonely traffic jam
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| And I’ve been talking to the radio
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| ‘Cause it doesn’t answer back
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| Telling it how they showed our love in monochrome
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| Before it all turned black
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| There’s the sand, there’s the spade
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| That dug the trenches that we made
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| Babe, our foundations were built on all the things we never said
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| Dressed myself up in tin plate armour
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| But you got me in the end
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| Yeah, you really sunk your teeth in
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| Spitting all that sweet pretence
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| But I’m pretty good at curtain calls
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| In fact I’ve been practising my swan song
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| And you keep trying to tell me that
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| You’d been trying to tell me all along
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| There’s the sand, there’s the spade
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| That dug the trenches that we made
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| Babe, our foundations were built on all the things we never said
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| Here’s hoping you and her are happy
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| A little fairy tale to be
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| Hope you stay together and don’t pollute
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| Any more fish in the sea
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| And the next time I bump into you
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| Put your hands where I can see them
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| So that I can strip-search your eyes
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| To check for any hidden feeling
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| There’s the sand, there’s the spade
|
| That dug the trenches that we made
|
| Babe, our foundations were built on all the things we never said
|
| We never said
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| That you never said |