| And I go home alone
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| I drive past the place where I was born
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| And the places that I used to drink
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| Young and drunk and stumbling in the street
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| Outside the Joiners Arms like foals unsteady on their feet
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| With the art students and the boys in bands
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| High on E and holding hands with someone that I just met
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| I thought it doesn’t get better than this
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| Better than this
|
| There can be nothing better than this
|
| Better than this
|
| And we climbed onto the roof, the museum
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| And someone made love in the glass
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| And I’d forgot my name
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| And the way back to my mother’s house
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| With your black cool eyes and your bitten lips
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| The world is at your fingertips
|
| It doesn’t get better than this
|
| What else could be better than this?
|
| Oh, don’t you know I have seen
|
| I have seen the fields aflame
|
| And everything I ever did
|
| Was just another way to scream your name
|
| Over and over and over and over again
|
| Over and over and over and over again
|
| And we’re just children wanting children of our own
|
| I want a space to watch things grow
|
| But did I dream too big?
|
| Do I have to let it go?
|
| What if one day there is no such thing as snow?
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| Oh God, what do I know?
|
| And I don’t know anything
|
| Except that green is so green
|
| And there’s a special kind of sadness that seems to come with Spring
|
| Oh, don’t you know I have seen
|
| I have seen the fields aflame
|
| And everything I ever did
|
| Was just another way to scream your name
|
| Over and over and over and over again
|
| Over and over and over and over again
|
| Oh, don’t you know that I have seen
|
| I have seen the fields aflame
|
| But everything I ever did
|
| Was just another way to scream your name |