| I traced your arms as you laid spread out on the sunday paper
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| Looked like the crime scene of an angel ghost
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| I heard the gate clatter to on the elevator
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| I wrapped myself up in it like a cold beef roast
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| Fell asleep, was cooked medium and placed on a dining room table in brooklyn
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| Before an older couple surrounded by family and friends so wonderful and kind
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| I flashed back to you giving dollars to homeless men down in the bowery
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| Not before they convinced you it was for sandwiches and not for wine
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| I just could never convince you baby
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| This was our time
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| This was our time
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| This was our time
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| Now your feeding me fabulous chinese takeout on the dampened bed sheets
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| Our last supper so you might say
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| I woke up in a cold sweat and realized we’d never cooked one meal together
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| You always said, «why bother?» |
| with the cuisines of the world laid at our feet
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| here everyday
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| Then I thought of our first date back in nashville
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| We shared the pupu platter you enjoyed it with such gusto I took it for a sign
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| We would have many happy meals together in a warm dining room somewhere maybe
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| even brooklyn
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| That was way back then, and I was just another guy with food on his mind
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| But this, baby this was our time
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| This was our time
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| This was our time
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| This was our time
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| What did you have in mind?
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| This was our time |