Lavender windows and burgundy doors
Olive green pillows on ebony floors
The lightest of wine could have been mine
It should have been mine
Promises kept and promises broken
They're all the same, whether silent or spoken
They're not worth a penny
I didn't make many, I didn't break any
Roads that are leaving and roads that have gone
Oh, every road moves but the one that I'm on
The score is now even and I should be leaving
Why am I not leaving?

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