She grinds her hips, maybe arches her back
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There’s nobody there to see when she is doing that
The guy’s not there, he just doesn’t exist
She’s looking at empty space when she's doing this.
She might walk home, she’s kind of tired
Or spend some of the money on a cab she’s hired.
Below a bus groans by and splashes a man
Who swears out a drunkard’s curse on the whole damned world
She smiles at that and then starts to cry
She scrubs at a spot on her leg and then lets it dry.
Then she’s sitting on the floor with her head hung down.
Listening to another language on TV
Unaware, hair unbound
Wondering where her mother and father might be
If she called, if she called.
She dreams, don’t we all dream ?
A place, a way, a recurring theme.
She remembers a time when love was alive
Somehow it gets lost in the sound of the city’s morning drive
Lost in the sound of the city’s roaring, morning drive.
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