| You tell me you don’t like the way I comb my hair
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| But there are two of us at this table
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| Only one of us doesn’t care
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| You’re so engrossed in what you read
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| And you’re not really there
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| Can tell you all my troubles
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| And all you say is 'yeah, yeah, yeah'
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| Television’s off tonight
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| I heard somebody cry outside
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| The smells of spring are everywhere
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| Getting mixed up with my own
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| Could’ve sworn I heard you say this house was not your home
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| Medicine cabinet is your only friend
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| Your greatest fear is telephone
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| Here it comes again
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| You look like so many adjectives
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| But what you are is what I’m not
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| You come round here in a brand new shirt
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| And announce that you’re a brand new girl
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| But you stole that line
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| And you probably stole the shirt as well
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| Sometimes I have to wonder why
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| I’d only take an inch and you gave me a mile
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| It’s got more to do with stupidity
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| Than it has to do with style
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| Every time you come round here
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| I never know just what you’ll wear
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| And I’m sitting here in yesterdays underwear
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| Do you have to try hard to look as though you really couldn’t care
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| A friend once told me apathy looks good on her
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| You look like so many similes
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| What you are is a cat in sunshine
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| And when you’re here I feel like D Day is here
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| All those songs about burning houses are giving me ideas
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| If I hear those words once more I’ll pour the petrol on the floor
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| And I’ll watch the flames caress your door
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| You look like so many analogies
|
| But what you are is a cat in sunshine
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| A cat in sunshine, a canary in a coal mine |