| I nearly thought that maybe she
|
| Could be the one to set me free.
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| I went and fell again —
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| There’s just something about her, I guess.
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| I wonder, did she know?
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| I wonder, did it show?
|
| And now she’s gone again,
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| Seems we’re not meant to be friends.
|
| And now she’s gone again.
|
| And now she’s gone again.
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| Watching headlights far away,
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| Aching at the close of the day,
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| Walking and wishing she
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| Were sharing the evening with me.
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| And I recall silently not sleeping.
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| And I recall her wet hair in the morning.
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| And I recall the distance I was keeping.
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| And I recall a birthday kiss she gave me,
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| Two journeys to her flat when it was just me,
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| And, in her car, to the radio her singing.
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| I recall the attention I was paying.
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| I wanted friendship, wanted closeness —
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| Around her I was hopeless.
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| I’d catch myself and feel a fool —
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| It’s such a different world in which she moves.
|
| I wonder, did she know?
|
| I wonder, did it show?
|
| I wonder, did it show?
|
| And now she’s gone again,
|
| Seems we’re not meant to be friends,
|
| And memories like these, they’re what I have left —
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| Memories that, stupidly, I never will forget.
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| Memories like these: a birthday card somewhere;
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| I could tell she was awake,
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| She wanted, too, to break the silence —
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| If we’d have talked into the night,
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| Would that have made a difference? |