You've got nowhere to go but up.
To where you'll dine with foreign kings.
You can't forget about our tryst.
And all those other fleeting things.
And will they train you like a dog?
And will they walk you down my street?
The wind will whistle our old songs
The ones I'll always keep
You've got nowhere to go.
I've got a bone to pick with you
About the argument we had
The day you got into that cab
And said my world is in your past
There must be something wrong with me.
My mind is just a sickly little alibi.
And why am I surprised you’re giving up on me?
Goodbye: the word you're wielding like a knife.
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