| She’s a golden ticket
|
| A shining peach mixed in a drink
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| That’s resting on a chair in a desert land
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| And not a grain of sand has compromised her worth
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| And you’re a broken man
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| Crawling on his hands and knees
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| In that same desert land
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| Doing the best he can not to think about
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| How he really needs that drink
|
| Is this really…
|
| Is this really happening?
|
| The sun’s finally shining down on me
|
| Is this really happening?
|
| The snow’s actually melting in front of my face
|
| I don’t know but I’ve been told
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| That a New York winter is mighty cold
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| Yeah, but we still walk down the coldest blocks
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| Using the fire in our hearts
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| The way it was ain’t the way it is
|
| And that works perfectly for me
|
| So let’s keep it that way
|
| Is this really…
|
| Is this really happening?
|
| The sun’s finally shining down on me
|
| Is this really happening?
|
| The snow’s actually melting in front of my face
|
| This perfectly perfect disease
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| Has got me down on my knees
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| No, not to pray but just to say
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| I love you more than yesterday
|
| Is this really happening?
|
| The sun’s finally shining down on me
|
| Is this really happening?
|
| The snow’s actually melting in front of my face
|
| Is this really happening?
|
| The sun’s finally shining down on me
|
| Is this really happening?
|
| The snow’s actually melting in front of my face |