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Return to Cups |
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Your drunken Scot tricks lost effectiveness dear |
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As you fuck around in London you wonder if she’s still there |
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In the light of the square, chick du jour less appealing |
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You run out of space to stash all the hearts you’ve been stealing |
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The last heart that you nicked was more complex than appeared |
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A long sweaty hot wire -- an engine flooded in fear |
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Still cocky but hung over on a north bound train |
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A five hour ride to where your party mates reign |
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Hair of the dog wakes you up and you’re regretting the tryst |
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She could see you were lying and knows you can never resist |
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A quick check of your voicemail confirms what you fear |
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“That was the last piece of my heart... hope you choke on it dear” |
