| Married love, married love
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| Here’s my strategy of married love
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| If it seems your hopes are growing dim
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| Don’t forget that you chose him
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| Don’t forget that you chose him
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| So he must be wonderful, right?
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| If your brain rules your heart
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| That’s a problem, baby, from the start
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| You cannot trust your brain
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| It’s the brain that goes insane, and not the heart
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| No, not your heart
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| You’re a woman
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| With a thousand little pockets in her being
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| You tuck away all the little pains for other days
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| A man doesn’t have those little pockets in his being
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| His system of emotions is no complicated maze
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| He’s straighter and simpler than you
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| And to love him, you must be simpler, too
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| Which is not an easy thing to do
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| So, what to do?
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| Go back to a time when you first felt love
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| Before you played the game
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| Go back to a time before you learned
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| How to bait, and then humiliate
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| And when to delegate the blame
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| You were young and felt your love
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| And it was wonderful
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| He noticed that you loved him
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| And yes, he was wonderful
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| You didn’t demand or second guess
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| Or thought in terms of more or less
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| Your heart put on its Sunday dress
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| And you were wonderful
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| But you grew up
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| Not every day is Sunday, your Sunday dress comes off
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| In your fairy tale hungry mind, you’re disappointed
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| You analyze and question, someone must be at fault
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| And your fairy tale prince becomes the one anointed
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| He may not be the reason, he just happens to be there
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| And the Sundays turn to weekdays, and your joy turns to despair
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| He’s oblivious, like an innocent boring into rotten fruit
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| You stock your ammunition, find your target, and you shoot
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| You lose what makes you feminine
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| It’s the only thing you’ve truly owned
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| And there you are, discontented
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| With the prince whom you’ve dethroned
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| You were right in saying, «forever after»
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| Cinderella-minded, as you are
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| The fairy tale leaves you with a beautiful sentence
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| About happiness ever after
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| But you forget that before it came to that poetic ending
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| There were dangers, and sorrows, and hardships
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| You will remember your instinct’s antennae
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| Your antennae will tell you many things:
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| What he likes and dislikes
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| His desires for the day
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| When to talk, when to listen
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| When to say what you must say
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| How is work is or isn’t
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| When to kiss him, or when not
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| When to praise him, or critique him
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| Either slightly or a lot
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| Don’t treat him like an object
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| Like his toothbrush or his comb
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| Just because his things are near you
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| Doesn’t mean he won’t leave home
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| Be his mother, his child
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| The moon to his sun, the silver to his gold
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| Grow kinder together, grow closer together
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| And together you’ll grow old
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| Be his life, be life
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| And, above all, don’t interrupt or correct them
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| When they’re telling one of their stories
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| Let them tell their story
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| Married love, married love
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| That’s my strategy of married love
|
| If it seems your hopes are growing dim
|
| Don’t forget that you chose him
|
| Don’t forget that you chose him
|
| So he must be wonderful, right?
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| Right |