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The Sundays — Here’s Where The Story Ends

People I know places I go
Make me feel tongue tied
I can see how people look down
They’re on the inside

Here’s where the story ends

People I see, weary of me
Showing my good side
I can see how people look down
I’m on the outside

Here’s where the story ends
Ooh here’s where the story ends

It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
Oh I never should have said the books that you read
Were all I loved you for
It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes me wonder why
& it’s the memories of the shed that make me turn red
Surprise surprise surprise

Crazy I know, places I go
Make me feel so tired
I can see how people look down
I’m on the outside

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