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The mirrors in the room go black and blue |
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On a Sunday morning in her Saturday shoes |
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We don't choose who we love |
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We don't choose |
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The lights over the Midway melt on the street |
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In a Sunday shoes, with her Saturday feet |
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She don't love who he choose |
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She don't need what she use |
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Daylight comes and exposes |
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Saturday's bruises and cold roses |
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Cold roses |
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Nothing but the sunlight will help you grow |
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From underneath your bed you can't see the window |
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We don't choose what we see |
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We don't choose |
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Fortunate and angry just like a child |
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All that money buys you medicine but can't buy you time |
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We don't choose what we love |
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And she don't need what she got |
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Daylight comes and exposes |
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Saturday's bruises and cold roses |
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Cold roses |
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Cold roses |
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Cold roses |
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Cold roses |