© Anthony John Clarke
He's out on the road now, a quarter past nine
His destination, some way down the line
He's done his fair share of talking, his fair share of time
And he knows
As he kicks off the dust from the place he has been
A white car pulls over and as he bundles in
I see lines on his face
Grey hairs on his chin
And he knows
He's a winner, a loser, an acquaintance of mine
He's a page from her novel, she's the dust on his wine bottle
He's never early, she's rarely on time…
He stops from his travels, a lonely hotel
Puts both cases down, gently rings on the bell
And the lady is smiling, she knows him so well
And he follows her in the hall
To where the carpets are faded and the windows are stained
The portraits are hung in Victorian frames
And he touches her face
As she whispers his name
And they know
He's a winner, a loser, an acquaintance of mine
He's a page from her novel, she's the dust on his wine bottle
He's never early, she's rarely on time…
He wakes in the morning and she is still there
Her shoes on the floor and her clothes on the chair
He tries hard not to wake her
As he touches her hair
It's as though
The wall clock is broken so he keeps his own time
He knows that she loves him one day at a time
And her breathing is sweet love
In a Burgundy wine
And they know
There is no need to speak out, there's no one else there
Alone words are only loose shapes in the air
And she may be sleeping
But at least she is there
And she knows
He's a winner, a loser, an acquaintance of mine
He's a page from her novel, she's the dust on his wine bottle
He's never early, she's rarely on time…
He's a winner, a loser, an acquaintance of mine
He's a page from her novel, she's the dust on his wine bottle
He's never early, she's rarely on time…
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