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So here she's actin' happy inside her handsome home
|
And me, I'm flyin' in my taxi, takin' tips and gettin' stoned.
|
I got into town a little early.
|
Had eight hours to kill before the show.
|
First I thought about heading up north of the bay
|
Then I knew where I had to go.
|
I thought about taking a limousine
|
Or at least a fancy car.
|
But I ended up taking a taxi
|
'Cause that's how I got this far.
|
You see, ten years ago it was the front seat
|
Drivin' stoned and feelin' no pain.
|
Now here I am straight and sittin' in the back
|
Hitting Sixteen Parkside Lane.
|
The driveway was the same as I remembered
|
And a butler came and answered the door.
|
He just shook his head when I asked for her
|
And said "She doesn't live here anymore."
|
But he offered to give me the address
|
That they were forwarding her letters to.
|
I just took it and returned to the cabbie
|
And said "I got one more fare for you."
|
And so we rolled back into the city
|
Up to a five store old brownstone
|
I rang the bell that had her name on the mailbox.
|
The buzzer said somebody's home.
|
And the look on her face as she opened the door
|
Was like an old joke told by a friend.
|
It'd taken ten more years but she'd found her smile
|
And I watched the corners start to bend.
|
And she said, "How are you Harry?
|
Haven't we played this scene before?"
|
I said "It's so good to see you, Sue
|
Had to play it out just once more."
|
Play it out just once more.
|
She said I've heard you flying high on my radio
|
I answered "It's not all it seems"
|
That's when she laughed and she said, "It's better sometimes
|
When we don't get to touch our dreams."
|
That's when I asked her where was that actress
|
She said "That was somebody else"
|
And then I asked her why she looked so happy now
|
She said "I finally like myself, at last I like myself."
|
So we talked all through that afternoon
|
Talking about where we'd been
|
We talked of the tiny difference
|
Between ending and starting to begin.
|
We talked because talking tells you things
|
Like what you really are thinking about.
|
But sometimes you can't find what you're feeling
|
Till all the word run out.
|
So I asked her to come to the concert.
|
She said "No, I work at night."
|
I said, "We've gotten too damn good at leaving, Sue"
|
She said, "Harry, you're right."
|
Don't ask me if I made love to her
|
Or which one of us started to cry
|
Don't ask me why she wouldn't take the money that I left
|
If I answered at all I'd lie.
|
So I thought about her as I sang that night
|
And how the circle keeps rolling around.
|
How I act as I'm facing the footlights
|
And how she's flying with both feet on the ground.
|
I guess it's a sequel to our story
|
From the journey 'tween heaven and hell
|
With half the time thinking of what might have been
|
and half thinkin' just as well.
|
I guess only time will tell.
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Sequel
|
Harry Chapin |