| On the corners of boulevards I call your name
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| Now and again they play our tune
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| In the grip of a tiny hand over a flame
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| Pale as the phases of the moon
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| In the cafes and shopping malls I see your face
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| Turn into mist on evening dew
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| But a book and a photograph just aren’t the same
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| There is a train that’s leaving soon
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| Budapest by blimp
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| Over pillars and palaces I’ll hold your hand
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| Until the fog is lifted
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| Maybe better you hold me close than understand
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| How far away I’ve drifted
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| In the face of a tragedy too bleak to know
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| The death of some grand illusion
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| All the treasure we pilloried, splendour we stole
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| They never told you that in school
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| Könnyebb volna tán feledni
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| Mint távozásom érteni
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| Múltból egy kiszakított lap
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| E ködből indul egy vonat
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| Budapest by blimp
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| Que je voudrais vous presenter, messieurs, mesdames
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| Regardez bien, je vous en prie
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| Here’s a map and a diagram, a shrivelled page
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| Ripped from the book of history
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| See the priceless antiquity frozen in time
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| Built on the ashes of the Jews
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| And for your curiosity, beauty sublime
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| Signed in the blood of Zulus
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| Not really a goosestep, more of a limp
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| Budapest by blimp |