| There’s never much to say between the moments of
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| Our games and repartee
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| There’s never much to read betweeen the lines of
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| What we need and what we’ll take
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| There’s never much to talk about or say aloud
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| But say it anyway
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| Of holidays and yesterdays, and broken dreams
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| That somehow slipped away
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| In books and magazines on how to be and what to see
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| While you are being
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| Before and after photographs teach how to pass
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| From reaching to believing
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| We live beyond our means on other people’s dreams
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| And that’s succeeding
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| Between the lines of photographs I’ve seen the past --
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| It isn’t pleasing
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| So strike another match
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| We’ll have another cup of wine
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| And dance until the evening’s dead
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| Of too much song and time
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| There’s never much to speak about
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| Or read between the lines
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| Of what we dream about
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| When we’re apart
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| And no one’s looking on
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| To say you’re mine
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| It was a good year then, it was a good year then
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| We all remember
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| The time you threw the looking glass and seemed a fool
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| Or very clever
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| Don’t spoil it all, I can’t recall a time when you were
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| Struck without an answer
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| We’ll live a quiet peaceful time between the lines
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| And go together
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| And I’m striking up the band to play our last hurrah
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| We’ll dance until we’ve killed another evening off
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| Don’t think of anyone but me
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| I’ll have no lovers on the side
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| Tonight is all we’ve ever dreamed about
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| For once let’s get it right
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| We’ll go down flying in the end
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| Through another bottle in between the lines
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| I’ll go down like a ship of state
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| Let’s be gracious now
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| Between the lines |