| Brief lies quietly on the passenger side,
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| Unwanted company on a long, long drive.
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| It turns down the quiet songs and turns up the dance.
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| It goes where you go, it’s been where you’ve been.
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| Pushing your empty car mile after mile,
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| Leaves you’re weeping in the wilderness of the supermarket aisle.
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| And iIn the late night kitchen light it sits in a chair
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| Watching you pretend that it’s not really there, but it is.
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| So it is and you ask
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| «Are you predator or friend? |
| The future or the past?»
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| It hands you your overcoat and opens the door.
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| You are learning the world again just as before,
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| But the first time was childhood and now you are grown,
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| Broken wide open, cut to the bone.
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| And all that you used to know is of no use at all,
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| The same eyes you’ve always had have you walking in the walls
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| And the same heart can’t understand why it’s so hard to feel,
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| What used to be true, it’s now so unreal, but it is.
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| So it its and you say
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| «I wish I were the wind, so that I could blow away»
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| Brief sits silently on the edge of your bed,
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| It’s closing your eyes, it’s stroking your head.
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| The dear old companion it’s taking aback
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| Watching you pretend it’s not really there. |