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