| Shy women, you and I
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| Shy, from knowing too well
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| Every time, as though it were mine
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| The bitterness that you hide so well
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| I say nothing at all, thinking of your pride
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| And I tell you that you look well, and you roll your eyes
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| And laugh, and we sit down together
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| By the window, talking about the weather
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| I should have told you, you looked so alive
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| Elegant in the low sunlight
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| Shoulders wide, as though in readiness to fight
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| Something, you never even touch
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| Never ask for too much
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| No, you can get by on almost nothing
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| You and I, forever bluffing
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| And ever so kind, shy women, shy
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| Ice on the trees since New Years Eve
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| Coming down in white sheets
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| All white power lines, swaying high and heavy
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| You were staring out, your eyes real straight
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| Like nothing touches you these days
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| It seemed to me that luxury would be to be not so ashamed
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| Not to look away
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| Even this, even this heaviness
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| Deserved no less than to always confess
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| Every false smile
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| To every loneliness, there’s a design
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| That we witness, you and I, shy women, shy |