| The man in 119 takes his tea alone
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| Mornings we all rise to wireless verdi cries
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| I’m hearing opera through the door
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| The souls of men and women, impassioned all
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| Their voices climb and fall; |
| battle trumpets call
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| I fill the bath and climb inside, singing
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| He will not touch their pastry
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| But every day they bring him more
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| Gold from the breakfast tray, i steal them all away
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| And then go and eat them on the shore
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| I draw a jackal-headed woman in the sand
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| Sing of a lover’s fate sealed by jealous hate
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| Then wash my hand in the sea
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| With just three days more I’d have just
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| About learned the entire score to aida
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| Holidays must end as you know
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| All is memory taken home with me
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| The opera, the stolen tea, the sand drawing
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| The verging sea, all years ago |