There’s never much to say between
the moments of our games and repartee
There’s never much to read between
the lines of what we need
and what we’ll take
There’s never much to talk about
or say aloud, but say it anyway
Of holidays, and yesterdays,
and broken dreams that somehow slipped away
In books and magazines of how to be
and what to see while you are being
Before and after photographs teach
how to pass from reaching to believing
We live beyond our means
on other people’s dreams
and that’s succeeding
Between the lines of photographs
I’ve seen the past – it isn’t pleasing
So strike another match
We’ll have another cup of wine
and dance until the evening’s dead
of too much song and time
There’s never much to talk about
or read between the lines of what we
dream about when we’re apart
and no one’s looking on to say
“You’re mine”
It was a good year then
It was a good year then – we all remember
the time you threw the looking glass
and seemed a fool – or very clever
Don’t spoil it all; I can’t recall
a time when you were struck
without an answer
We’ll live a quiet, peaceful time
between the lines, and go together
I’m striking up the band
to play our last hurrah
We’ll dance until we’ve
killed another evening off
Don’t think of anyone but me
I’ll have no lovers on the side
Tonight is all we’ve ever dreamed about
for once let’s get it right
I’ll go down flying in the end
Throw another bottle in between the lines
I’ll go down like a ship of state
so let’s be gracious now
between the lines
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