| It seems to me as though I’ve been upon this stage before
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| And juggled away the night for the same old crowd
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| These harlequins you see with me, they too have held the floor
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| As here once again they strut and they fret their hour
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| I see those half-familiar faces in the second row
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| Ghost-like with the footlights in their eyes
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| But where or when we met like this last time I just don’t know
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| It’s like a chord that rings and never dies
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| For infinity
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| And now these figures in the wings with all their restless tunes
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| Are waiting around for someone to call their names
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| They walk the backstage corridors and prowl the dressing-rooms
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| And vanish to specks of light in the picture-frames
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| But did they move upon the stage a thousand years ago
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| In some play in Paris or Madrid?
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| And was I there among them then, in some travelling show
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| And is it all still locked inside my head
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| For infinity
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| And some of you are harmonies to all the notes I play
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| Although we may not meet still you know me well
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| While others talk in secret keys and transpose all I say
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| And nothing I do or try can get through the spell
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| So one more time we’ll dim the lights and ring the curtain up
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| And play again like all the times before
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| But far behind the music you can almost hear the sounds
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| Of laughter like the waves upon the shores
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| Of infinity |