| There is a room that you just now walked out of
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| It has everything in it but you
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| There’s a mirror that knew what you looked like
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| And a door that has ruined the view
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| There’s a carpet depressed by your footsteps
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| A hallway which echoes their sound
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| There’s an arrow that points to the exit
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| And a lift that goes no further down, no further down
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| There’s a stage play that shows every evening
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| With no prompter, no plot and no lines
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| The actors don’t know what they’re doing
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| They improvise all of their lives
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| And the action’s all happening offstage
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| Where the props meet the actual things
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| Someone saw you with a gun in your hand
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| I heard the report from the wings
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| You say you’re leaving
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| When I know that you’re gone
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| After the fact, you’ll be back
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| But long after the song
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| If ever I try to run after
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| The ceiling reveals the sky
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| The carpet is pulled out from under
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| The walls disappear in the flies
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| Behind them, the lenses of cameras
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| They all want a piece of us now
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| The story behind the unmaking
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| The what and the why and the how
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| Excuse if I choose not to bow
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| You say you’re leaving
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| When I know that you’re gone
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| After the fact, you’ll be back
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| But long after the song is gone
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| After the fact, you’ll be gone
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| But long after the song |