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Blue Christmas lights tell us stories about ourselves I saw you biting yours nails through a pane of glass in that restaurant late night conversations when you told me there were no stars just satellites And I lay down in the shirt you used as a towel when there were none left and that the stars were a felt blanket draped over tabletops of a smoke seeping factory (?) gestures Bent puzzle pieces we are small cities tall buildings this glass flipper is giving me blisters now I'd prefer not Aus Songtexte Mania