| Well, Tommy woke that morning
|
| With a headfull of rocks
|
| And Sylvia was in shock
|
| The story they’d been faking
|
| Had frozen on their lips
|
| And fallen through the brush of fingertips
|
| And though they packed their bags
|
| Ready for the road
|
| The curtains and the bedroom door
|
| Stayed closed
|
| For Sylvia and Tommy
|
| This is a curtain call
|
| They’ve been running away for years
|
| But pride in flight
|
| Precedes a certain fall
|
| So Tommy rubs his stubble
|
| As if to check his face is there
|
| And Sylvia combs her hair
|
| Just like nothing really happened
|
| They’ll carry on as before…
|
| But this thing won’t work, will it, any more
|
| And though the bags are packed
|
| Ready for the road
|
| The curtains and the bedroom door
|
| Stay closed
|
| For Sylvia and Tommy
|
| There’s nowhere left to hide…
|
| They’ve been running for years
|
| To find some kind of thrill
|
| To take away the emptiness
|
| That they both feel inside
|
| Making the fictional
|
| Out of the matter of fact;
|
| Masquerade the picture
|
| But now the frame’s all cracked
|
| For Sylvia and Tommy
|
| There’s nothing left to try
|
| They’ve been running for years
|
| To find some kind of life
|
| That offers an excitement
|
| That the rest of us pass by
|
| So Tommy woke that morning
|
| With a headfull of rocks
|
| And Sylvia was in shock
|
| This story they’d been faking
|
| Was frozen on their lips
|
| And falling through the brush of fingertips
|
| And though the bags are packed
|
| Ready for the road
|
| The curtains and the bedroom door
|
| Stay closed
|
| For Sylvia and Tommy
|
| There’s nowhere left to go
|
| They’ve been running away so long
|
| There’s just no strength to carry on
|
| They can’t get back to what they knew
|
| A life abandoned once and long ago |