| It was always a marriage
|
| From the moment that you stepped into my hallway
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| Shy as anyone I’d ever known
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| You choose what to believe in
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| In this flippant time, there’s no real reason not to
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| We wrote letters to each other
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| As though addressing the ocean that we stand before now
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| You in my old cardigan and I in your blue jeans
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| And the light turned golden on the distant headlands and the ocean
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| And you and I on the other side of the world
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| Love, it is no mystery, it never has been
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| No, not to me
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| I love because I see
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| But we never got better
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| We never got to talking
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| We never figured out the questions
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| We got good at walking
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| Walking the streets
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| When it was too hot to eat
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| Walking in step
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| We can’t help it
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| You remember in June
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| You showed up one day with a small leather suitcase
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| Swaying your walk and you stayed on with me
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| Late into the evening into all the years
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| That have passed on since then
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| With no certainty, no agreement
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| More intimate than I could imagine
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| But with space, I cannot fathom
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| Like a song with so much silence
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| Or just like you in your defiance
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| You say you never questioned anything
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| You say you knew from the beginning
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| I ask for your hand in it
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| Some infinite understanding
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| But I don’t know nothing of what I’m asking
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| I’ve no idea of what it will entail
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| I asked for your hand
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| Like it was too intimate to ask for your mind
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| Or to count on kindness
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| Like I count on your presence
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| Like I don’t count on nothing else
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| Oh, it was always a marriage
|
| From the moment that you stepped into my hallway
|
| Shy as anyone I’d ever known
|
| Curious and alone |