shera

he's dressed up like a squire, bootlegged whiskey in his hand

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for the sun

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Into this long month of sundays

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we come and go, as the ripples on a string

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I've been roaming around

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countless lovers undercover of the street

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love of mine

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ville inte vara den som blev kvar

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jhhhj

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skåneland

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the lonely stoner, mr. solo doe low

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time won't let me go

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