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The actor leaves the stage with a rose in his hand |
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He settles in the back seat his thoughts are like fine sand |
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Driven through the rain swept streets casting a melancholy stare |
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Upon two enraptured loves kissing without a care |
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The dreams of an actor spill slowly by |
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Like the thoughts of a dreamer or the casting of a die |
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Talking to gay fellows of the follies on which they perch |
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He saw a lovely lady beneath the arches of a church |
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Cigarettes in the airless twenties |
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An estate well filled with dust |
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In the evening reading Swinburne |
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Eating mightily with some false lust |
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But a kiss was what we found |
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On damp but friendly ground |
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The lady wore no makeup but she stood like a swan |
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Thin body of a dancer her dress was quietly torn |
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Her eyes searched his distant heart that lingered in the ram |
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But his friends caught his iron gaze and carried it away again |
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Broken hearted in the loveless twenties |
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Where a wink was like an embrace |
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Making love on blue Fridays |
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From across some foggy space |
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But a kiss was what we found |
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On damp but friendly ground |
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Tea was like a mirror a reflection never there |
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His thoughts upon that ring of love that burned upon her stare |
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Her eyes her lips her chin her grace the rain upon her hair |
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Thus it gripped his white gloved heart can anyone be so fair |
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Untied in the breezy twenties |
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With a hand held in my arms |
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Bearing my heart to the hallowed spires |
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Of this quiet and ancient land |
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For a kiss was what we found |
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On damp but friendly ground |