| On the first floor there’s a young girl reeling
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| Her body’s numb and without feeling
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| As illusions dance on the midnight ceiling
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| Now she’s falling, now she’s kneeling
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| It’s almost like she’s bowed in prayer
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| A savior she’s about to bear
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| She screams for help, but no one’s there…
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| On the first floor…
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| On the first floor people walk the halls
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| But none can hear her desperate calls
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| There is no sound beyond the walls
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| So to the telephone she crawls
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| She telephones her only friend
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| The one on whom she can depend
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| But the phone rings on without an end
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| Then rings no more… On the first floor…
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| There’s a party on the second floor
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| And through the picture window you can see them all
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| They’re laughing and they’re dancing
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| Admiring the Renoir that’s hanging on the wall
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| But in the master bedroom where the coats are piled high
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| A silent, saddened lady thinks of what it’s like to die
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| And as she dwells on all the years she still has left to face
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| She wonders how she’ll ever find someone to take his place
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| Then suddenly she’s jarred by the ringing of the phone
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| Oh, why do you ring now, just when I want to be alone?
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| So she walks into the bathroom and drinks some water from a cup
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| But the telephone stops ringing just before she picks it up…
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| My family was very poor
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| So I worked hard to be secure
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| I married one I had to wed
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| And not the one I loved instead
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| When I was young my blood ran wild
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| But we stayed married for the child
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| Now three flights up, I’m all alone
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| My wife is dead, my child is grown
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| My daughter leads a wayward life
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| She’s been a failure as a wife
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| And though she lives just one floor down
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| She never calls or comes around…
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| Step off the platform and onto the train
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| Look out your window and into the rain
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| Watch all the buildings that pass as you ride
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| And count all the stories that go on inside
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| And then ask yourself if it must be this way
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| Should walls and doors and plaster ceilings
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| Separate us from each others' feelings? |