How I hate
Loving this selft-pity
Can't balme you
You got to leave the city
Fear and doubt
If I could
I would send
A card to the garden
I can't help
Feeling a bit forgotten
I know I'm not
Still I'm the one who's calling
Whilie I sleep
Milse away from Sweden
Laughs and smiles
She sheres with them
In the garden of eden
I´m begging you pardon

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