| In an anonymous rendezvous
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| Where the forbidden lovers repair
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| They’re burning down another damn candle
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| They’re melting the tables and chairs
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| Beneath them applause from the balcony
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| Whenever they accomplished making love
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| Other times they thought they heard laughter
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| Coming from the balcony above
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| She lies to his right and she carelessly recites
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| All of her brand new appetites
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| She seems brittle and small, it don’t sound like her at all
|
| Since she came back to him after the fall
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| She said «You never visit the countryside»
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| «So I’ve made you a country to order»
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| She put up a little tent in the bedroom
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| Crickets played on a tape-recorder
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| The ceiling was festooned with phosphorous stars
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| She noticed his skin turning cold
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| Burning all his clothes on the bonfire
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| «Relax» she whispered and tightened the blindfold
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| You’ve changed but not for the better babe
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| I’d tell you why but what’s the use
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| Because it’s the same kind of pity
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| A drunkard gives as his excuse
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| You were sharp and ideal as a bobby pin
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| Now your eyes are deserted and quiet
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| We both look like those poor shattered mannequins
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| Thrown through the window in the riot
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| She lies in his arms and without any qualms
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| Revels in shallow delights
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| She seems brittle and small, it don’t sound like her at all
|
| Since she came back to him after the fall |