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A Harp In New York - Live

de Portraits

A littler closer to home one - who's distant.
A sick look glazed over my repression. Humbly I'm dismissed with no warning.
Momentary this bliss. You can see the look on my face.
Say, nothing's said. I wish you'd fight me 'til the last teardrop's bled.
Momentary this bliss. I can see the look on your face, and I just can't wait.

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