He opens his eyes falls in love at first sight
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With the girl in the doorway
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What beautiful lines and how full of life
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After thousands of years what a face to wake up to
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He holds back a sigh as she touches his arm
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She dusts off the bed where 'til now he's been sleeping
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And under miles of stone, the dried fig of his heart
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Under scarab and bone starts back to its beating
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She carries him home in a beautiful boat
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He watches the sea from a porthole in stowage
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He can hear all she says as she sits by his bed
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And one day his lips answer her in her own language
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The days quickly pass he loves making her laugh
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The first time he moves it's her hair that he touches
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She asks, a¢æ©«Are you cursed?a¢æ? He says, a¢æ©«I think that I'm cureda¢æ?
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Then he talks of the Nile and the girls in bulrushes
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In New York he is laid in a glass covered case
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He pretends he is dead people crowd round to see him
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But each night she comes round and the two wander down
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The halls of the tomb that she calls a museum
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Often he stops to rest but then less and less
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Then it's her that looks tired staying up asking questions
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He learns how to read from the papers that she
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Is writing about him and he makes corrections
|
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It's his face on her book more and more come to look
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Families from Iowa, upper west siders
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Then one day it's too much he decides to get up
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And as chaos ensues he walks outside to find her
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She's using a cane and her face looks too pale
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But she's happy to see him as they walk he supports her
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She asks, a¢æ©«Are you cursed?a¢æ? but his answer's obscured
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In a sandstorm of flashbulbs and rowdy reporters
|
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Such reanimation the two tour the nation
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He gets out of limos he meets other women
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He speaks of her fondly their nights in the museum
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But she's just one more rag now he's dragging behind him
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She stops going out she just lies there in bed
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In hotels in whatever towns they are speaking
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Then her face starts to set and her hands start to fold
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And one day the dried fig of her heart stops its beating
|
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Long ago on the ship she asked, a¢æ©«Why pyramids?a¢æ?
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He said, a¢æ©«Think of them as an immense invitationa¢æ?
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She asked, a¢æ©«Are you cursed?a¢æ? He said, a¢æ©«I think that I'm cureda¢æ?
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Then he kissed her and hoped that she'd forget that question
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|
The Curse
|
Josh Ritter |