| In a coffee shop in a city
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| Which is every coffee shop in every city
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| On a day which is every day
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| I picked up a magazine
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| Which is every magazine
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| Read a story, and then forgot it right away
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| They say goldfish have no memory
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| I guess their lives are much like mine
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| And the little plastic castle
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| Is a surprise every time
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| And it’s hard to say if they’re happy
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| But they don’t seem much to mind
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| From the shape of your shaved head
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| I recognized your silhoutte
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| As you walked out of the sun and sat down
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| And the sight of your sleepy smile
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| Eclipsed all the other people
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| As they paused to sneer at the two girls
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| From out of town
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| I said, look at you this morning
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| You are, by far, the cutest
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| But be careful getting coffee
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| I think these people want to shoot us Or maybe there’s some kind of local competition here
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| To see who can be the rudest
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| People talk
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| About my image
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| Like I come in two dimensions
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| Like lipstick is a sign of my declining mind
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| Like what I happen to be wearing
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| The day that someone takes a picture
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| Is my new statement for all of womankind
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| I wish they could see us now
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| In leather bras and rubber shorts
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| Like some ridiculous team uniform
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| For some ridculous new sport
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| Quick someone call the girl police
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| And file a report
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| In a coffe shop in a city
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| Which is every coffee shop in every city
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| On a day which is every day |