You take a final look around
|
And then you put your house key down
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Upon the table by the note
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You take your handbag and your coat
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You don't want too much to carry
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To slow you down on your way
|
|
You picture his face
|
In the morning
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As he way going to work
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Without saying a word
|
You saw the face
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Of a stranger
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It wasn't always like this before
|
His face like a stranger
|
You didn't know what to say
|
So you are going away
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From the face of a stranger
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And not the lover you knew before
|
|
Why should you want to call your friends
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Why should you want to start again
|
You tried explaining through the years
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But it would always end in tears
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And one thing you know for certain
|
You've said goodbye to the place
|
|
But still you picture his face . . .
|
|
Somewhere a telephone
|
Is ringing in an empty room
|
Miles away
|
You are looking at a new town
|
But you are thinking of the past
|
The rain is falling down
|
Why do you keep that photograph
|
|
Of his face like a stranger
|
As he was going to work . . .
|
|
-----------------
|
The Face
|
Kirsty MacColl |