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In a manner of speaking, I just want to say that I could never forget the way.
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Porta San Biagio (XVIII sec.)
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And so we live in an abandoned mansion.
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Perhaps in time I'll realize it's justified.
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These days I seem to think a lot about the things that I forgot to do and all the times I had a chance to.
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No one really knowing why they’re here.
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Then I'll follow you into the dark.
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But one of us misread.
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There’s gossip in the grain.
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Hey you, out there in the cold, getting lonely, getting old. Can you feel me?
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One object then another and then the next and I wondered what they meant there.
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Don't you wanna see the colours in my head?
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Must I always be waiting, waiting on you?
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Memory is a stranger, history is for fools.