| Remember when our so-called friend would not call out to you
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| While tumbling loosely out a hole punched through your home?
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| It’s pretty clear, though you could hear, you truly finally knew
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| In time, I’ll tell his tale the way he’d like it told
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| Now he isn’t on the phone, his story might as well be so
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| Well, loving is as loving does
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| And I’d say we should know, because we both have loved, have lost, and are alone
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| Your face’s falling tears, to me they’re lovely and they’re dear
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| Though you don’t love me and it’s clear that I will never see you in my arms
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| There’s no room in your heart for even this finely-sharpened dart
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| Although I had started to think there might be hope, it isn’t so
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| So wake up, make up some new song again around the same tune
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| The water cools, the leaves they fall, the sun it bends, the summer ends
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| Our so-called friend doesn’t need you. |
| So proceed out the door and down the
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| street
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| December’s lying near, but in the oven’s heat this house is now a home
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| Sixty days of trips and stays you took to tell me, dear
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| That you cannot love me because you secretly still love a stone
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| Although I put my lips to your face, trying to push his kiss out of its place
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| Although my heart started to race, now it has slowed, I’ll let it go |