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Well, it's 2:30 in the morning, and listening to music again. I can't go to bed until Mr. Edmonds and Toni Braxton stop manipulating me. I don't care; I love this song. Maybe one day I'll make a list of the top 20 (pop) songs that make me yell, "Why didn't I write this song?!" What do you think Mr. Edmonds made on this song, eleventy billion dollars? [Another song which would be useless if people weren't fornicating perverts.--ed.] The dude might have died, you never know. I hate Shanice's version on the Babyface Unplugged special in '97. [Everyone does.--ed.] And Madonna would be selling cubic-zirconia earrings without Mr. Edmonds and this song in 1995. It's a Faustian bargain really: He'll make you a bajillion dollars and extend your career, but in 15 years, it'll be his song and noone will care you were involved.

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