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Walking by the concourse |
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Lit by the glow of a streetlight |
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Held up by hallowed ground |
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And cigarettes flicking all around |
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In your black eyes |
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I hoped that I would find |
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That you were hiding |
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You were hiding something |
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Walked into the concourse |
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At the end of the tunnel were my dim lit saviors |
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All raucous and full of glam |
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But not the kind that I left uptown |
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And you looked dark and pensive |
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As your heels hit the floor to the blaring Division |
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But you didn't have much to say |
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But you were beautiful anyway |
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In your black eyes |
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I hoped that I would find |
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That you were hiding |
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Hiding something |
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But in your black eyes |
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Lit by the glow of a streetlight |
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You were hiding |
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You were hiding something |
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Deep inside the concourse |
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I learned of the fuel of the celebration |
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Seemed the saviors were down with it |
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Even you had your nose in it |
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Deep inside the concourse |
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I longed for a difference in the conversation |
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But underneath the swinging model hair |
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Were the words I hear everywhere |
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In your black eyes |
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I hoped you were hiding |
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In your black eyes you were hiding |
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You were hiding nothing at all |
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Don't want to sing it now |
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Don't want to shake, shake, shake |