I am the only one
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Searching for you
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And if I get caught
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Well, then the search is through
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And the stories you hear
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You know they never add up
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I hear the natives fussin' at the data chart
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Be quiet, the weather's on the night news
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Empty homes, plastic combs
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Stolen rooms are the alloy of chrome
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I've got style
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Miles and miles
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So much style that it's wasting
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So much style that it's wasting
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So much style that it's wasting
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Now, she's the only one
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Who always inhales
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Paris is stale
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And it's war if we fail
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And in the migrant hotels
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They never sleep, they never will
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Their souls are crumblin' like a dirt-clod hold
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Your cigarette cuts to the inside
|
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Empty homes, plastic combs
|
Stolen rooms are the alloy of chrome
|
I've got style
|
Miles and miles
|
So much style that it's leaving
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This pattern's torn and we're weaving
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This pattern's torn and we'll weave it
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-----------------
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Frontwards
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| Los Campesinos! |