| Mary waits at the Tudor Hotel
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| Strong and assured, yet so feminine
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| Stands so firm, not so much for herself
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| As for the unborn baby she carries within
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| She’s there to decide on the right thing to do
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| Should she run away, and never look back
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| Or to go back home and face the truth
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| 'Coz her future’s about to catch up her past
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| Take your time, Mother Mary
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| Step light so you don’t fall
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| You know, life’s just like a baby
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| We all want to walk before we crawl
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| She looks through her bag on the marble tiles
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| A photograph of a brown-eyed man
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| She keeps it close, she says for her child
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| Should he ever need to see his Dad
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| She breathes a sigh and whispers his name
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| Too many things still left unsaid
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| Mostly pride, and just a little shame
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| This world doesn’t like its mothers unwed
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| Take your time, Mother Mary
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| Step light so you don’t fall
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| You know, life’s just like a baby
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| We all want to walk before we crawl
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| An old woman stares out the window, lonely and lost
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| An old couple sits at a table, and Mary thinks, that could be us
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| Mary waits at the Tudor Hotel
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| Picks up her bag, makes up her mind
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| The doors revolve like a circus carousel
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| Takes one last look, says goodbye
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| Take your time, Mother Mary
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| Step light so you don’t fall
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| You know, life’s just like a baby
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| We all want to walk before we crawl |