| Walking past my lover’s house
|
| Bitter taste still in my mouth
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| Too much whiskey, too much smoke
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| Last night’s tears hang on my coat
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| But now the rain has stopped its fall
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| Streets shine like a mirror ball
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| Sun comes on, it’s just enough
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| Watch the flower’s waking up
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| It’s washing day
|
| It’s washing day
|
| Colors run and they fade away
|
| It’s washing day
|
| It’s washing day
|
| Feel the threads like new again
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| Big machines all in a row
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| Mother with her child in tow
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| Change old paper for silver coins
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| Lose myself in all this noise
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| Wake up from a peaceful rest
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| Counting down, one minute left
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| Cotton stops its jog in place
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| I hold it warm against my face
|
| It’s washing day
|
| It’s washing day
|
| Colors run and they fade away
|
| It’s washing day
|
| It’s washing day
|
| Feel the threads like new again
|
| What’s this in my dungarees
|
| In my back pocket, curled and creased
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| My old notebook, filled with you
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| Our secrets now just streaks of blue
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| It’s all a mess, but beautiful
|
| This emptiness, a gift I hold
|
| I write a poem with you in mind
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| And leave the memories behind
|
| I leave the memories behind
|
| It’s washing day
|
| It’s washing day
|
| Colors run and they fade away
|
| It’s washing day
|
| It’s washing day
|
| Feel the threads like new again
|
| Feel the threads like new again
|
| Feel the threads like new again |