| There was a cold December snow,
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| On the streets and towns below,
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| You stuck you name into the ground with me.
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| But love, like all frigid things,
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| We did melt away with ease,
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| Washed away in liquid ease,
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| We set out into the sea.
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| Like a wave upon the shore,
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| We rose up and crashed back down upon ourselves.
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| And the words that fill our lips,
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| Bitter shrieks and evil quips,
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| Oh how they stain, oh they stain the ground below.
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| Like the horn that breaks the fog,
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| I beat down here on my chest, love, like a drum.
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| And you’ll hear my growling voice,
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| Once so silent, now I’ve got no goddamn choice.
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| But to sing my favourite song,
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| Like the headwinds; |
| filling soon out of my lungs.
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| Now I’m fighting with the flow,
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| Now what’s left here? |
| I don’t know.
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| Should I stay, or should I go?
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| La, da, da, da, da, da, da
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| And the luck we had it leaves,
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| But our fate, it was to die away with ease.
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| And my dear, in years to come, will you think of me with hate here, or with
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| love.
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| And oh this house,
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| We blew the storm,
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| It crumbles back,
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| To the earth below,
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| And I am done,
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| And you are done,
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| And we are gone,
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| And nothing’s left here but this song. |