| I’ve lived in all of the houses he’s built
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| The one in the air
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| The one underground
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| The one on the water
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| The one in the sand
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| He says: It doesn’t matter how we live
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| He says: It doesn’t matter where we live
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| We’re so close we can dispense with houses
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| We don’t need a home at all
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| It’s come to be a habit with me to dine alone
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| You’re never home
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| And the evenings end so early
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| He says: we can be close from afar
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| He says: the closest people always are
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| We’re so close that in our separation
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| There’s no distance at all
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| Sometimes I gout to the car
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| Turn on the headlights
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| Intending to leave-
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| Sometimes I need to hear the words
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| My imagination’s not as strong as you’d believe-
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| But I’ve talked to you;
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| You haven’t listened at all
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| I’ve said I’m numb
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| I can’t even cry
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| I’m stuck with acting out a part
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| He says: what do words ever reveal?
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| He says: in speaking one can be so false-
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| We’re so close we have a silent language
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| We don’t need words at all
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| There’s a husky voice
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| That speaks to me in the dark
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| And on the phone from studios
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| And Westside bars
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| Through tunnels of long distance
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| He says: we’re beyond flowers
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| He says: We’re beyond compliments-
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| We’re so close we can dispense with love
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| We don’t need love at all |