Today's lyric:
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"Now it's coming to the end of the evening
The time when the ceiling sways and objects jerk out of place
Your eyelids heavy
You make your way down the yellow streets past rows and rows of houses
Curtains drawn tight against the cold night air
To a flight of stairs which lead to a room where a bed is waiting for you to lie down
Perhaps alone, perhaps not and go to sleep again."
Pulp: "Goodnight"
Labels: not hungoverage
Drinking and Driving (but clearly not simultaneously)
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