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I've heard a couple of interesting interpretations of the lyrics, so I won't spoil anything by revealing the truth. You gotta give me props for working in a tuba, no?
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When we were dressed to kill
The boutonniere was lovely
With petals on the ground
Now my lapel is bloody
The writer holds her pen
In an angry and awkward way
And in between the lines
Are the words you would never say
We danced on moon drenched nights
Two wine flushed faces glowing
In morning's sober light
The wrinkled skin is showing
The writer holds her pen
In an angry and awkward way
And in between the lines
Are the words you would never say
Fending off the fists of fate
We want things as they were before
Staring at the x-ray film
A tumor cannot be ignored
We dined in five star style
With thighs pressed close together
Our house of brick and steel
Dissolved in rainy weather
The writer holds her pen
In an angry and awkward way
And in between the lines
Are the words you would never say
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