| Well, it’s late at night
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| There’s nobody around
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| Just the sounds of the cars
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| Upon the asphalt ground
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| It’s the waiting time
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| When the hours grow still
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| I gaze on through the glass
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| Inside my windowsill
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| Though I know that you must be
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| Somewhere in this world
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| In this place where, at birth
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| You and I were both hurled
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| To think that we once were relating
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| Is a thing that has almost grown foreign to me
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| It’s a bad sight
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| Such a terrible waste
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| To spend your time talking
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| In such bad taste
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| It’s the same old line
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| Though it’s not you I blame
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| It’s your teachers and television
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| That you put to shame
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| The night’s lasting longer
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| Because I’ve filled my head
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| With the things I could have done
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| And the words I could have said
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| But, in truth, I was only spectating
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| And that’s a permanent part of reality
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| So many rude lines
|
| So many petty crimes
|
| And you don’t feel a need
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| To apologize
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| Tonight is the time
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| That you stick in my mind
|
| But from now on I won’t become
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| Vandalized
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| Now the room’s started filling
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| With the dawn’s early light
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| And the end has arrived
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| Of this long night
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| I turn off the television
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| And I hit the bed
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| While your shade is still haunting
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| My ever-vulnerable head
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| And there’s no use
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| In trying to compromise
|
| When the kindest things we say
|
| But it’s time I should quit my complaining
|
| And behave with a little more dignity
|
| So many rude lines
|
| So many petty crimes
|
| And you don’t feel a need
|
| To apologize
|
| Tonight is the time
|
| That you stick in my mind
|
| But from now on I won’t become
|
| Vandalized
|
| Written by Bill Foreman |