| Me and Martha Plimpton in an elevator,
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| Her golden Labrador kissed my index finger.
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| Two in the morning, summer saturated,
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| I’d been drinking and it’d been raining
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| And it felt so strange
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| Cuz I didn’t know what to say,
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| And when she smiled I turned away.
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| But that’s so like me, timid self conscious crippling
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| She seemed so friendly and I must’ve seemed uninteresting.
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| Soaked from walking and smelled like boozed and cigarettes,
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| I stood there listening to hear light breathing
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| And I wanted to say that I really loved her films
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| And I wanted to make her laugh and smile
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| But I stood still.
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| I managed to mutter «hello,»
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| Her eyes shining in the fancy elevator lights.
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| I stood awkwardly hands fluttering
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| The doors parted and she said goodnight to me
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| And her voice was like a song that wouldn’t leave my head
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| And I thought Martha I’m running on empty.
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| And I couldn’t help but think
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| I’d missed another chance to live,
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| But isn’t that the way it always is?
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| The way it always is… |