| Your father has just left your mother,
|
| gone off to live with his latest lover:
|
| she sits there, just staring.
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| So you get back to your own flat
|
| because the atmosphere in there
|
| is so bad you can’t bear it.
|
| And the people you were going to America with
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| just left on the dawn plane
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| without you,
|
| without you.
|
| The people in the downstairs flat
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| are no longer there now because they left
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| the gas tap on, they’re all dead.
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| So you’ve no-one left to talk to,
|
| you just lie there in melancholy,
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| half-naked on your unmade bed.
|
| And the people you were going to Africa with
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| just left on the Southern Star
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| without you,
|
| without you.
|
| Yes, the haze that’s been forming round your window-panes
|
| is now protracted and poisoned
|
| and you cannot feel a portion of the world outside.
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| Can you imagine the way you’d feel
|
| if all these things had happened to you
|
| and the doctor says you’re dying?
|
| That is the way that I feel now
|
| on finding that your love belongs
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| to someone else and not I.
|
| My chance of heaven has just blown away
|
| upon a passing cloud and there is nothing that I can do without you.
|
| The people you were going to have left, gone far away
|
| and you’re lonely. |