| Were we leaving Rio
|
| Or were we in New York?
|
| I remember bossa nova on the breeze
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| We were in the back seat
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| Of a cab we couldn’t afford
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| You were holding my old rucksack on your knees
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| You leaned towards your window
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| To see the traffic up ahead
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| «These commuters here,» you said
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| «Could be the walking dead»
|
| And we vowed to guard our dreams
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| From all the storms that lay ahead
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| From the winds of fear and age and compromise
|
| And we laughed about the hopelessness
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| Of so many peoples lives
|
| As we slowly moved towards the changing lights
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| It was near Les Invalides
|
| Or perhaps Trafalgar Square
|
| It was late at night the city was asleep
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| You were clowning in the back seat
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| With some friends we’d found somewhere
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| The kind, back then, we always seemed to meet
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| «There were those in this great world», you said
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| «Just fated to go far»
|
| And among the lucky ones
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| Were we inside that car
|
| And your friends began to sing
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| When You Wish Upon a Star
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| And you clapped along like you didn’t have a care
|
| But once I turned to glance at you
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| As we drove across the square
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| And your face looked haunted in the changing lights
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| Was it last September?
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| It was autumn more or less
|
| You were waiting to cross some busy boulevard
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| Talking on your phone
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| To your family I guess
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| Your briefcase tucked up high beneath your arm
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| As I approached you turned around
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| A question in your eye
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| As though I might ignore you
|
| And just simply walk on by
|
| But we smiled and talked awhile
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| About each others lives
|
| And once or twice I caught a wistful note
|
| Then you moved towards the crossing
|
| As the cars slowed to a halt
|
| And we waved and parted beneath the changing lights |