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Siempre Goldfrapp.

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So if you want my address it’s number one at the end of the bar
Where I sit with the broken angels clutching at straws and nursing our scars
Blame it on me, blame it on me
Sugar mice in the rain

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Le fil de Camille

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No more “I love you’s”
The language is leaving me
No more “I love you’s”
Changes are shifting outside the world
(The lover speaks about the monsters)

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Redhairs gone mad…

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(A veces la felicidad hace que me vea así)

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Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves,
Blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze.
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees;
Pastoral scene of the gallant south;
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
The scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck,
for the rain to gather
for the wind to suck
for the sun to rot
for the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop.