| When the children see them, they point and laugh
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| When the children see them, they point and laugh
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| When the children see them, they point and laugh
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| But they don’t know
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| When the children see them, they point and laugh
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| When the children see them, they point and laugh
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| When the children see them, they point and laugh
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| But they don’t know
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| They don’t know
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| She lost her son on a Sunday
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| Her memory’s a bloodstain
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| The paper showed his young face
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| Who remembered his mum’s name?
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| She sleeps with the blanket he was wrapped in as a child
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| He’s not dead he’s just napping for a while
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| She thinks backwards with a smile
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| On a clock, the hands stop
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| Can’t accept all the plans
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| Lost sunny Sundays
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| Dancing to Vandross like:
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| I used to be such a bad bad boy
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| But I gave it up
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| When I fell in love (ooh)
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| Hold him close breathe the smell of his skin
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| Preserving every little thing
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| How can she ever begin
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| To move on?
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| Sunday mornings getting the groove on
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| His little hands wave, their new-born grew strong through songs
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| She thinks he’s coming in from school
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| Made his favourite dinner too
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| Sitting talking to an empty chair in the living room
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| Roams the street calling out things that no one listens to
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| Tried to treat her but
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| They thought solution was medicinal
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| No
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| And I don’t think they’ll ever comprehend it
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| Schizophrenic or a broken heart that can’t be mended
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| Now she’s sitting talking to herself
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| Where the bench is
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| Relatives wonder when she’s coming to her senses
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| In her mind, he grew
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| Walked the passage to a man
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| They branded it as madness
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| Never planned to understand
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| She can’t quite touch him
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| She imagines that she can
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| Holding the fabric to her face
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| Squeezing the blanket in her hand
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| Saying
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya
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| I dance with you
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| I dance with you
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| (Oooh)
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| The day they came and took away his son was a Sunday
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| But he only woke up to the news on the Monday
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| More times he knows the situation ends one way
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| But he looks up searching for some hope in the sunrays
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| A year passed, two years passed, three years passed
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| Finds it hard to get over the shadow that the fear casts
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| Four years passed, five years passed, six, seven, eight passed
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| Still lays a hand for him when they play cards
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| His bedroom as it was, doesn’t dare to touch a thing
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| Hums himself to sleep with the songs his son would sing, like:
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| Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone
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| Only darkness every day
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| Ain’t no sunshine now he’s gone
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| Only darkness every day
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| You might see him by the betting shop
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| Asking for a spare pound
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| His shoes are getting tattered
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| And he’s losing all his hair now
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| Sees him in his dreams but
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| He doesn’t know his whereabouts
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| Sees him in the mirror
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| 'Cause there’s nothing else he cares 'bout
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| Sees him in the crowd but
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| The truth is, he isn’t there
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| Goes after him and chases but
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| Every time, he disappears
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| Cars pass him by
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| And passengers just sit and stare
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| Talking to himself in a cruel world that didn’t care
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya (ah ya ya)
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya (hey)
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| I dance with you (oh)
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| I dance with you (ah)
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya (every Sunday morning, yeah)
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya (ah oh)
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| Every Sunday morning na ya ya
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| I dance with you (oh)
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| I dance with you (ah)
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| I don’t think I can do this on my own (no no no)
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| I don’t think I can do this on my own (oh)
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| I don’t think I can do this on my own
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| 'Cause I need you
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| I need you
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| I don’t think I can do this on my own
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| I don’t think I can do this on my own
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| I don’t think I can do this on my own
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| 'Cause I need you (I need you)
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| I need you |