| He told her to wait in the lobby
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| While he finished his calls for the day
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| Lying on the couch was the christmas issue of
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| «new life» magazine
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| She swept it up to her lap
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| Silently praying through it’s pages of red and green
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| A door opened across the way
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| Its muffled beat escaping and swirling towards her
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| And the eyes lifted from the page…
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| Don’t leave a diva, never leave a diva baby
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| Don’t leave a diva, never make a diva wait
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| Don’t ever tease her, that will never please her baby
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| Don’t leave a diva, never make a diva wait
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| Her intuition will change condition
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| So don’t leave a diva
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| Her blue-bowed shoes pointed to two men in black t-shirts
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| Mumbling over a bad track
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| Too much juno and what to use for an ending
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| The door clicked shut and she started to sing
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| Out loud, throaty notes
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| Spaced over another magazine
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| This one filled with pastel and voile visions
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| On the cover was a bride…
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| He emerged from his office on an f note
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| Portable phone still in hand
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| She had been waiting in the lobby a lot lately
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| And waiting for never a diva’s occupation |
| He moved, motioning to quiet her aria
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| But she took advantage of his cellular audience
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| And increased her volume
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| The spring issue falling to the floor as she rose
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| With higher notes ohhing from her lipstick-pressed lips
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| She turned towards the stairway
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| An ascension was occuring
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| His eyes followed her shadow, eclipse-like
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| As it passed across the room… |