| It’s either
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| Something in their eyes or something in the drink
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| But whatever it is they both stop and think
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| There’s no going back and nothing above
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| It’s lust or loneliness, but never love
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| She takes a breath as he takes his keys
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| First name terms is the extent of it
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| There’s no getting out as they’re going in
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| But by tomorrow they both will begin
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| To regret and renege on a bond they have struck
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| A small price to pay and casual luck
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| Some lose nothing, some lose a lot
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| But whatever we have is all we have got
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| He takes her hand and leads to the room
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| In half light and silence for their clothes to remove
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| There’s doubt in her mind but hope in her heart
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| That this last one of many may be the start
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| So they wriggle and writhe for an hour or two
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| But time has no place when two are consumed
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| They moan and they gasp but they don’t really speak
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| As no conversation could fit this scene
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| And tomorrow as always, always comes
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| As she slips away, he still dumb
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| He felt the urge just as she felt the need
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| Now the need to get out, still carrying his seed
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| Which trickles down her leg and onto her shoe
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| Onto the pavement and then out of view
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| Into the gutter and down into a drain
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| Joining a river and there to remain
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| There’s no going back and there’s nothing above
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| It’s lust and loneliness that drives us along
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| It’s lust and loneliness, but it’s seldom love |