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November in a rainstorm, the truest truth I ever heard |
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The sound of babies crying in a hospital ward |
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Oh, like a bed of rushes, they spread love out on the concrete floor |
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Names, and dates, and faces I really can't remember anymore |
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We could hardly tell the difference between one year and another |
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Sun like pouring whiskey, snow like shedding skins of lovers |
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And, I grew up with magic; free and wild as bindweed |
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Pushing for the boundary, pushing through the edges of the concrete |
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I'm the girl that bought a round-trip cross the Rubicon |
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And I'm not sure that even I know where I'm coming from |
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Sentimental tango when I was just fourteen |
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I could hear Astaire and Rogers tap their way across the screen |
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Oh, bullied and belittled, until the sun set in the concrete |
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I wore my sister's black skirt, all dressed up for Halloween |
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We could hardly tell the difference between the shouting and the quiet |
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It was the path of least resistance to stage my own private riot |
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And the walls tumbled like Babel, down around my feet |
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Rhyme came in deliverance rising through the wreckage and the concrete |
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I'm the girl that bought a round-trip cross the Rubicon |
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I'm not sure that even I know where I'm coming from |
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For a girl who loves her words, yeah, she loves her silence more |
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Found a better example of what hearts and tongues are for |
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There is truth in your arm's love, there is truth in this song |
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There is truth in the concrete and the nails that our lives are built upon |