| Ronnie stood beneath the movie marquee
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| His memories all curled up inside
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| He was trying to remember
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| Was it August or September
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| He’d seen her for the last time
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| He’d heard that she’d become an actress
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| Lord, she always had the prettiest face
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| And he stood with his hands
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| In his pockets and waited
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| For the dollar matinee
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| Lord, she’s bigger than life on the screen
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| There’s a laugh from the balcony, good Lord
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| And the sun will burn you and blind you
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| When you step back into the street
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| The theater, she smelled so familiar
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| She was a smokey old velvet delight
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| Yes, and he sat down front
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| Just like he’d always done
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| With his feet hanging out in the aisles
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| And he watched her with eyes disbelieving
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| Felt something like time on his brain
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| And he told himself
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| Don’t you remember it’s only
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| Just a part that she’s playing
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| Lord, she’s bigger than life on the screen
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| There’s a laugh from the balcony, good Lord
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| And the sun will burn you and blind you
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| When you step back into the street
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| She stood by some window in Paris
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| While the captions translated the scene
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| Oh, and Ronnie stared back
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| At her body and breathed
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| «Christ, that’s the first time I’ve seen it!»
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| Behind him the people were leaving
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| Well, the busses, they were humming outside
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| But old Ronnie never went
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| To the movies unless
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| He could stay and see it twice
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| Lord, she’s bigger than life on the screen
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| There’s a laugh from the balcony, good Lord
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| And the sun will burn you and blind you
|
| When you step back into the street |