| It was dark when you got home
|
| And only getting darker
|
| The garden overgrown
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| It was further than you thought
|
| From the driveway to the door
|
| You fumbled for the porchlight
|
| And somehow you were sure
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| That there was something wrong
|
| She’s going, if not gone
|
| And nothing said would stop her
|
| Put something warmer on
|
| And await the winter proper
|
| There was no need for a note
|
| It couldn’t have been clearer
|
| The absent dufflecoat
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| The clothes across the bed
|
| They spelled it out instead
|
| But you still don’t understand it
|
| All those books you never read —
|
| Maybe this is what went on
|
| She’s going, if not gone
|
| And nothing said would stop her
|
| Put something warmer on
|
| And await the winter proper
|
| At night the helicopters move above us
|
| Searchlights over roofs
|
| Of lovers hiding from home truths
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| The covers starting to come loose
|
| In our modern bedrooms
|
| With our ancient problems |