| Sober in the morning light
|
| Things look so much different
|
| To how they looked last night
|
| A pale face pressed to an unmade bed
|
| Like flags of many nations
|
| Flying high above her head
|
| The cellophane is still on the flowers
|
| The telegram still in her hand
|
| As whispers circulate all day
|
| Their backstage baby princess passed away
|
| You can cage the songbird
|
| But you can’t make her sing
|
| You can trap the free bird
|
| But you’ll have to clip her wings
|
| 'Cause she’ll soar like a hawk when she flies
|
| But she’ll die like an eagle
|
| When she die
|
| Promises of no more lies
|
| Fell flat upon an empty stage
|
| Before the audience arrived
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| A return in time to the cheaper seats
|
| She never knew what lay beneath
|
| Just a dated handbill they found beneath the sheets
|
| Let down before the final curtain
|
| The shallow heart that left her cold
|
| She left in rouge upon the mirror
|
| A circled kiss oh to the faithful fans
|
| Who’d miss her
|
| You can cage the songbird
|
| But you can’t make her sing
|
| You can trap the free bird
|
| But you’ll have to clip her wings
|
| 'Cause she’ll soar like a hawk when she flies
|
| But she’ll die like an eagle
|
| When she die |