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Every time we say goodbye, I die a little.
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Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little
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Why the gods above me, who must be in the know.
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Think so little of me, they allow you to go.
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When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it.
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I can hear a lark somewhere waiting to sing about it.
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There's no love song finer, but how strange the change,
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From major to minor, every time we say goodbye.