There's a sound
|
Across the alley
|
Of cold metal
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Touching skin
|
|
And you can see
|
If you look in her window
|
That she has gone and cut
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Her hair again
|
|
In straight lines
|
Straight lines
|
|
Those soft golden lights in the morning
|
Are now on her wooden floor
|
The wind has swept them through the apartment
|
She don't need them
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Any more
|
Any more
|
Any more...
|
|
She's cut down
|
On her lovers
|
Though she still dreams
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Of them at night
|
|
She's growing straight lines
|
Where once were flowers
|
She is streamlined
|
She is taking the shade down
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From the light
|
|
To see the straight lines
|
Straight lines
|
|
She wants to cut through the circles
|
That she has lived in before
|
She wants to finally kill the delusions
|
She won't need them
|
Any more
|
Any more
|
Any more...
|
|
But there's a sound
|
Across the alley
|
Of cold metal
|
Too close to the bone
|
|
And you can see
|
If you look in her window
|
The face of a woman
|
Finally alone
|
|
Behind straight lines
|
Straight lines
|
|
-----------------
|
Straight Lines
|
Suzanne Vega |