| A bird flies out and over the rooftops
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| Down past the cars in my line of view
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| It’s a strange beginning, comic and awkward grace
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| In a picture, on the table
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| I’m in a red dress waiting for a reason
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| Holding a tightly packed suitcase
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| Maybe I’m too jaded to love somebody like you
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| Maybe I want to love my dream that’ll never come true
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| Someone who is real, oh, gets in the way
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| And moves inside my heart, not just my head
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| Interfering with how I want to feel
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| How do I want to feel, I wonder?
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| You could be water to me, I could be wine
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| The stars have all faded here
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| They give us no sign
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| Is this the right time?
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| The smoke curls up and ribbons the air
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| Away from my nervous fingers
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| The cigarette sputters, a tired reluctant burn
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| In a picture, on the table
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| You are a driver peering past the moment
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| Holding the wheel until it turns
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| Maybe I’m too jaded to love somebody like you |