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The sands of time are turning into snow The flocks are headed south And down there down south The drinks are on the house You're dancing all night long… and don't belong It's always autumn, even May The dogs are barking in the rain I'm just a stranger lurking on my own The bed is smirking, ceiling low The temperate is way below Your vacant eyes have lost their glow I write you letters while asleep The train of thought is hard to keep The fare you bargained turned out counterfeit And down there down south Where all this nonsense doesn't count It keeps shifting with the flow It's time to go |
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