| It happened in the summer, not so very long ago
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| It was so warm and humid Elsie would go down to the old wood and pray for the
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| wind to come
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| She had a friend who swore you could evoke the angels simply by prayer
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| She said «There are angels for every desire but you must believe,
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| you have to believe»
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| So by the time the sun was buried along with the stale air a plan had formed
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| very clearly in her mind
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| She was a lonely girl of around twenty or so, and as she knelt down to pray in
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| the old wood under the town, her heart would beg and plead
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| I desire a partner in crime
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| I’ve grown tired of endless crying
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| I desire a partner in crime
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| I’ve grown tired of endless crying
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| Crying for nothing
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| And the roses hung their weary heads like people do when they are heavy
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| And without hope. |
| The seasons passed January, February under the trees
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| And there were tulips amongst the firs. |
| Elsie was twenty-three twenty-four
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| Twenty-five and the underpass was dark and dense with light at the seams
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| Where the trees were broken and the branches were reaching out for they
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| Had witnessed her prayers, and there was promise in the wind, a promise
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| Of better things
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| I desire a partner in crime
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| I’ve grown tired of endless crying
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| I desire a partner in crime
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| I’ve grown tired of endless crying
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| Crying for nothing
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| The years flowed on and on like the wine that celebrated marriages of friends
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| and sisters
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| Elsie began to think that even if her wish materialized she could not sacrifice
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| a life that was so familiar
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| Lonely, sad with an almost religious quality
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| She remembered times spent in the old wood deep in prayer
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| Aching, begging — thinking her heart might burst. |
| Her friend had moved away
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| unannounced
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| She’d disappeared. |
| There was no belief. |
| And longer and longer there was less to
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| give. |
| Less love to give
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| Of course there’d been lovers but nothing close to what she’d hoped for
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| Before she’d felt electricity swelling in her palms — but not now
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| Limp and hopeless life continued but it wasn’t really living
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| All she’d ever dreamed wished and yearned for had been stolen and shot down
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| And the sky it echoed a warning
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| And eternity was calling
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| And the sky it echoed a warning
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| And eternity was calling
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| Calling for nothing |