| I had forgotten the dress you wore
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| The first time I ever saw you walking through a door
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| And I had forgotten your secret smile
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| That seemed to say it’s okay, you can stay awhile
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| And I never kept a trace
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| Of your voice, your touch, your taste
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| Or your perfume
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| I had forgotten you
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| Then I got a letter, it came today
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| From an old friend; |
| this is what he had to say:
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| 'You know Frank Hannon, well, his wife just died
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| But the big news is he’s already found another bride
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| You may remember her
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| She says you once went out with her
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| She was twenty-two
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| She still remembers you
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| She’s been a widow for six years
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| Now her children have left home
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| She nursed Frank’s wife for a while
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| But nobody knew this was going on'
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| Now Mary comes to me, she turns out the light
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| Then after a while she asks me if I’m alright
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| Well I turn to hold her but I’m not there
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| Tonight I feel like both of us are made of air
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| Mary’s hair is turning grey
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| And she worries about her weight
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| Do you, too?
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| I had forgotten you
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| Yes, it’s true I had forgotten you
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| Nothing new
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| I had forgotten you |