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It was a miracle I even got out of Longwood alive, |
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this town full of men with big mouths and no guts; |
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I mean if you can just picture it, |
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the whole third floor of the hotel gutted by the blast |
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and the street below showered in shards of broken glass, |
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and all the drunks pouring out of the dance halls |
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staring up at the smoke and the flames; |
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and the blind pencil seller waving his stick |
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shouting for his dog that lay dead on the side of the road; |
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and me, if you can believe this, |
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at the wheel of the of the car |
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closing my eyes and actually praying; |
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not to God above but to you, saying: |
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Help me, girl; help me, girl |
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I'll love you till the end of the world |
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With your eyes black as coal |
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and your long dark curls |
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Some things we plan, |
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we sit and we invent and we plot and cook up; |
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others are works of inspiration, of poetry; |
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and it was this genius hand that pushed me up the hotel stairs |
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to say my last goodbye |
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to a hair as white as snow and of pale blue eyes |
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[saying:] |
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I gotta go; I gotta go, |
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the bomb in the bread basket are ready to blow |
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in this town of men with big mouths and no guts, |
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the pencil seller's dog, spooked by the explosion, |
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leaping under my wheels as I careered out of Longwood |
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on my way to you waiting in your dress, |
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in your dress of blue |
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I said: |
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Thank you, girl; thank you, girl |
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I'll love you till the end of the world |
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with your eyes black as coal |
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and your long, dark curls |
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and with the horses prancing through the fields, |
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with my knife in my jeans and the rain on the shield; |
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I sang a song for the glory of the beauty of you |
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waiting for me |
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in your dress of blue |
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Thank you, girl. Thank you, girl |
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I'll love you till the end of the world |
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with your eyes black as coal |
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and your long, dark curls |