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| The nights grow long, Temperatures do wane. We cross the Channel To hone our playin'. This club in Hamburg Shall thus effect... | |
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| Now is the winter of our discotheque! So shake it up, urchin, Twist and shout, No one can silence us 'Til this long night is out. | |
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| Art thou quite sure? I fear we may be infected by a Teutonic plague, a nasty rat bite may end our loud night. | |
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| Fearest not, for if we play, God wins. Laws, even, are nary enow to bring our set to a ... | |
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