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Why don't we stop fooling ourselves? The game is over, over, over. No good times, no bad times, theres no times at all just the New York Times. Sittin' on the windowsill, near the flowers. We might as well be apart, it hardly matters we sleep seperately. And drop a smile, passing in the hall, but theres no laughs left cuz we laughed them all. And ( Read more... )
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