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If all the streets were water |
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I'll sail down the rivers |
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Under the the sheet of flowers |
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I rest my head on her |
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Whatever keeps me going |
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Is stuck inside a dream, |
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From what I see. |
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In Los Angeles, |
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The farther it hurts. |
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And the last hit breathes? |
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The old, I do admire |
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And where it might have been |
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For you are not allowed to tell me that I've sinned |
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I'm looking for the good time |
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To say that I have risen from what I've seen |
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In Lost Angeles, |
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The farther it hurts |
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And the last hit breathes? |
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All of the weight in the wide hist? of clouds |
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? away, |
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turning inside out |
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There is a feeling that is swallowing |
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My home every time that I lie in your bed |
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Don't know what is coming, didn't ask for a thing |
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Let it go, |
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I'm here with you |
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And please do not wait. |
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To remind me ? |
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If all the streets were water |
|
I'll sail down the rivers |
|
Under the the sheet of flowers |
|
I rest my head on her |
|
Whatever keeps me going |
|
Is stuck inside a dream, |
|
From what I see. |
|
In Los Angeles |