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was it just a second-handed scheme?
someone else outgrew then had no further need
you’re Woodward in those dresses, I’m Newman in these jeans
and we look timeless in someone else’s throwaway dreams

was it just the wind that swept you in?
on the doorstep all the way at this deadend
you’re telling me my future without saying a word
and we feel steady just watching records spin in circles

the candle’s burning low in your bedroom window
in the blue-grey morning light a new day on the horizon
I can hear your heartbeat through the quiet
weaving tapestry with someone else's throwaway dreams

are we just a product of circumstance
or do stars and tarot cards factor in
we’re giving such good answers to questions we don’t own
there’s no return and no exchanges but one day we’ll pass them on