| The man who owned the heartache
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| That lived on the stairs
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| Passed me in the night whistling 'Memories of You'.
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| I stared, too frightened to move
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| For fear my eyes shone a light
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| On the darkness he drew like a cloak
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| All around his shoulders.
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| And the church on the corner
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| Marked the time for the mother
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| Who was giving birth to a child across the hall.
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| And I waited, half in anger, half in sadness
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| For an answer to the call for help
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| I had written on the wall
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| And the rain fell like jewels
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| On the heads of all the fools
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| Who wandered crazed with their souls ablaze for me.
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| And the blessing of the hour
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| Was the twilight and the tower
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| With its golden bell from the bottom of the sea.
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| And the moon through the window of the bedroom
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| Where lovers slumbered
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| Made a silver dance of such dust beneath the bed.
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| And I waited for a moment in the lamplight
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| Crystal gazing
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| Listening to their hearts
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| And the changing of their breath |