| Astrid, do you recall the Sundays at the Spa with double straws from a Carton with a heart on. |
| Who could ask for more? |
| You’d assure me you’d
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| Support me as I tried to write that novel in the hovel we called home (OUR
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| Home). |
| You’d mow the lawn you’d pay the bills. |
| You touched me there. |
| The
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| Shock of Contact kept us warm.
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| And Astrid, you kept your word, you never said a word, as I ripped up the
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| Pages, spent your wages, entertaining friends you hated, making bombs and
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| Planting them in galleries. |
| Your salary was wasted (oh how criminal)…
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| They cut the power, they pulled the plugs — they took away the phone.
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| We’re quite alone. |
| We share a candle in the cellar — oooh you touched me There. |
| The shock of contact kept us warm.
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| And Astrid, as sure as blue skies always turn to grey — they came with
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| Guns. |
| I tried to run and you took all the blame. |
| They took you and I never
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| Said a word — and now you never say a word as I lean through the bars. |
| I Whisper my apologies, oh Jezus you stare clean through me. |
| You cut me Down, I touch you there. |
| The shock of contact keeps me warm. |