| He opens his eyes, falls in love at first sight
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| With the girl in the doorway
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| What beautiful lines, how full of life
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| After thousands of years, what a face to wake up to
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| He holds back a sigh as she touches his arm
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| She dusts off the bed where 'til now he’s been sleeping
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| Under miles of stone, the dried fig of his heart
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| Under scarab and bone starts back to its beating
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| She carries him home in a beautiful boat
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| He watches the sea from a porthole in stowage
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| He can hear all she says as she sits by his bed
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| Then one day his lips answer her in her own language
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| The days quickly pass, he loves making her laugh
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| The first time he moves, it’s her hair that he touches
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| She asks, «Are you cursed?» |
| He says, «I think that I’m cured»
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| Then he talks of the Nile and the girls in bullrushes
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| In New York, he is laid in a glass-covered case
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| He pretends he is dead, people crowd round to see him
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| But each night she comes 'round and the two wander down
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| The halls of the tomb that she calls a museum
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| Often he stops to rest, but then less and less
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| Then it’s her that looks tired, staying up asking questions
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| He learns how to read from the papers that she
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| Is writing about him and he makes corrections
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| It’s his face on her book, more and more come to look
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| Families from Iowa, upper Westsiders
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| Then one day it’s too much, he decides to get up
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| And as chaos ensues, he walks outside to find her
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| She is using a cane and her face looks too pale
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| But she’s happy to see him, as they walk he supports her
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| She asks, «Are you cursed?» |
| but his answer’s obscured
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| In a sandstorm of flashbulbs and rowdy reporters
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| Such reanimation, the two tour the nation
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| He gets out of limos, he meets other women
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| He speaks of her fondly, their nights in the museum
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| But she’s just one more rag now he’s dragging behind him
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| She stops going out, she just lies there in bed
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| In hotels in whatever towns they are speaking
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| Then her face starts to set and her hands start to fold
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| And one day the dry fig of her heart stops its beating
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| Long ago on the ship, she asked «Why pyramids?»
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| He said, «Think of them as an immense invitation»
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| She asked, «Are you cursed?» |
| He said, «I think that I’m cured»
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| Then he kissed her and hoped that she’d forget that question |