| A taxi comes round with a crowd
|
| Of the fashionably late
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| Their boots click in all directions
|
| On stones and pools of rain
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| The tourists wander backward
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| They don’t know which train to take
|
| While a girl is hiking up her skirt
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| With a brown eye on her date
|
| But all my thoughts come back to you
|
| And all my dreams are true here
|
| And I have already returned to you
|
| In a bar with the tv on
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| The news spills on the table
|
| In pink and blue neon
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| Saying 'oh how will we make it?'
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| But no one hears at all
|
| Thought I’d be somebody different
|
| I thought I would have paid and gone
|
| Even the soliders in the corner
|
| Have retreated and withdrawn
|
| But all my thoughts come back to you
|
| And all my dreams are true here
|
| And I have already returned to you
|
| In a bar with the tv on
|
| Now I’ve drawn on all the napkins
|
| And I’ve drank here long enough
|
| Hope I’ve touched you with kindness
|
| I have shyed away from love
|
| And all these silent pictures
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| Moving bright across my face
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| Dance away in midnight gestures
|
| Bringing forth some grander place
|
| Where windows reach for open air
|
| Where goodness is the song you hear
|
| Where the sound of night is everywhere
|
| Calling children and lovers home
|
| And all my thoughts come back to you
|
| And all my dreams are true here
|
| And I have nothing to give to you
|
| But I have already returned to you
|
| In a bar with the tv on
|
| In this bar with the tv on |