The Bechstein was our lifeline
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We could see our faces in the shine
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And know it wasn't over
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You never said you loved me
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Even when we crowded out the children from the sofa
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I hope you overhear me
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I hope you overhear me
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When I'm uttering my name for you
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In case collected copies of The Times get faded before ninety nine
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The trunk will stay locked shut
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In the garden the ritual was acted out under every tree
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Shame my favourite scenes were cut
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Overhear me
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Salad |