Somewhere on the streets of Leningrad
Next to the second best thing you’ve ever had
Your cold finger traces a subway map
And the push starts to come to shove
When the wind in your hair is full of dust
And the moon’s anywhere but up above
May the very last thing you said to me
Be the next thing you’re thinking of
And you pretend that you’re in love
You pretend that you’re in love
You pretend that you’re in love
But we both know you ain’t
Lying on a stretch of sandy beach
With your wet cigarettes just out of reach
The piña coladas go down like bleach
And you shrink like a leather glove
When the lavender sun slips out of view
And the ghost in your bed says “What’s to do?”
May the very last thing you said to me
Be the next thing you’re thinking of
And you pretend that you’re in love
You pretend that you’re in love
You pretend that you’re in love
But we both know you ain’t
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