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when he moves i watch him from behind
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he turns and laughter flickers in his eyes
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intent and direct when he speaks, i watch his lips
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and when he drives i love to watch his hand
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white and smooth almost feminine, almost american, i have to watch him.
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(chorus)
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in his face age descends on youth, exaggeration on the truth
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he caught me looking then but soon his eyes forgot
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and everything he seems to do reflects just another shade of blue
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i saw him searching into you and ached a while
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i watch his lips caress the glass,
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his fingers stroke its stem and pass
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to lift a cigarette at last, he dries his eyes
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from a shadow by the stair
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i watch as he weeps unaware
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that i'm in awe of his despair, but i am there
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(chorus repeat)
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|
|
-----------------
|
ode to boy
|
Yazoo |