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Henri Bardot
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Make You Love Me
On the night shore
In words worth speaking
You said silence means more
Than talking cheaply
I stole the words of a great loved
Writer I read once
In the backseat scheming
How to make you love me
And on the night floor
Yourself worth wasting
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By the morning adored
Then back to aching
I hold the urn of
A past love
And it's pouring out on me
In the black deep
Seeing how to make you love me
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