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Ralph McTell
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My love asked, "Do you remember French films made in black and white Late in the fifties, early sixties Where night is day and day is night You know those ones that start somewhere And wander to the middle scene The only way you knew they'd ended 'F i n' came on the screen" I used to love them in the darkness Stumbling from the cinema Thick mascara and dark glasses All my roads were boulevards And best of all, my parents had No interest in the these story lines Each mystery and nuance was For me to ponder, these were mine I'd watch every actor's gesture The way they lit each cigarette The camera looked through cracked glass windows And focused on a bead of sweat In dingy rooms whose naked bulbs Shed light upon the crumpled sheets On beds in which were newly written Love letters scrawled in haste and heat
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