| The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in '68
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| And he told me, «All romantics meet the same fate someday
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| Cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark café
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| «You laugh,» he said, «you think you’re immune
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| Go look at your eyes, they’re full of moon
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| You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you
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| All those pretty lies, pretty lies
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| When you gonna realize they’re only pretty lies?
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| Only pretty lies, just pretty lies»
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| He put a quarter in the Wurlitzer
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| And he pushed three buttons and the thing began to whirr
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| And a bar maid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie
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| And she said «Drink up now, it’s gettin' on time to close.»
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| «Richard, you haven’t really changed,» I said, it’s just that
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| Now you’re romanticizing some pain that’s in your head
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| You got tombs in your eyes, but the songs you punched are dreamy
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| Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet
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| When you gonna get yourself back on your feet?
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| Oh and love can be so sweet, love so sweet
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| Richard got married to a figure skater
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| And he bought her a dishwasher and a coffee percolator
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| And he drinks at home now most nights with the TV on
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| And all the house lights left up bright
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| I’m gonna blow this damn candle out
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| I don’t want nobody comin' over to my table
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| I got nothing to talk to anybody about
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| All good dreamers pass this way someday
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| Hidin' behind bottles in dark cafés
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| Dark cafés, only a dark cocoon
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| Before I get my gorgeous wings and fly away
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| Only a phase, these dark café days |