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Well, Tommy woke that morning |
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with a headfull of rocks |
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and Sylvia was in shock. |
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The story they'd been faking |
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had frozen on their lips |
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and fallen through the brush of fingertips |
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and though they packed their bags, |
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ready for the road, |
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the curtains and the bedroom door |
|
stayed closed. |
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For Sylvia and Tommy |
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this is a curtain call |
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they've been running away for years |
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but pride in flight |
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precedes a certain fall. |
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So Tommy rubs his stubble |
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as if to check his face is there |
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and Sylvia combs her hair |
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just like nothing really happened |
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they'll carry on as before... |
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but this thing won't work, will it, any more. |
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And though the bags are packed |
|
ready for the road |
|
the curtains and the bedroom door |
|
stay closed. |
|
For Sylvia and Tommy |
|
there's nowhere left to hide... |
|
they've been running for years |
|
to find some kind of thrill |
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to take away the emptiness |
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that they both feel inside. |
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Making the fictional |
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out of the matter of fact; |
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masquerade the picture |
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but now the frame's all cracked. |
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For Sylvia and Tommy |
|
there's nothing left to try |
|
they've been running for years |
|
to find some kind of life |
|
that offers an excitement |
|
that the rest of us pass by. |
|
So Tommy woke that morning |
|
with a headfull of rocks |
|
and Sylvia was in shock. |
|
This story they'd been faking |
|
was frozen on their lips |
|
and falling through the brush of fingertips |
|
and though the bags are packed |
|
ready for the road |
|
the curtains and the bedroom door |
|
stay closed. |
|
For Sylvia and Tommy |
|
there's nowhere left to go |
|
they've been running away so long |
|
there's just no strength to carry on |
|
they can't get back to what they knew |
|
a life abandoned once and long ago. |