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Though I know you'll never read the words I'm writing now |
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Shopping lists, ephemera beneath the Kingston stars |
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Evening rain is drifting in through spaces in the dark |
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And I dream of angels in the plumes of cigarettes |
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A single feather floating high |
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Above the silent Thames |
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Bright electric trains on Friday |
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Evening rain again |
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Me and Mr.Jones |
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So, so speechless and alone |
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Shopping lists, ephemera beneath |
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The silent Kingston stars you know |
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Drifting though the Sunday mall until I'm blind |
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And tonight tonight tonight the time is mine |
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To purge the sweetness from my heart |
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And turn my eyes back to the darkness speechlessly |
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Wherever it is I should be |
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It's a suburb in the rain |
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It don't matter anyway |
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I get into work with the night still in my mind |
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On bright electric trains I'm blind |
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Drifting though the Sunday mall |
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And burning in the night |
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I wish I was driving south forever |
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From the light upon the asphalt and the rain |
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But into Sunday's dreams I fall again |
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Standing in my kitchen |
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I am turning with a fever in my heart |
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Above the drifting summer and the dark |