I’ve Heard That Tearstained Monologue You Do There by the Door Before You Go John Hartford

Sometimes I get to thinking that I've passed this point in life one time before
Like the re-run of some movie that I saw a thousand Saturdays ago
And I get the feeling that I know exactly what your gonna do and say before it happens in each scene

I find myself rehearsing for that blackout situation, when the punchline reaches out and punches me
I always play the same old part; the good guy gets the girl, I wind up dead
Those rides into the sunset when the credits start to roll, are only flashed upon the screen inside my head

The show is done, the lights go up, I throw my empty popcorn box away
Go back to unreality on rubber legs, I walk into the day
Life is never logical, the faces change, the lines all stay the same
I know the cues where I came in, the exits but I can't recall your name

So save your breath, don't tell me how it all comes out, somehow I think I know
I've heard that tear stained monologue you do there by the door before you go
What makes me take you by the hand and stand around in line one time again

And see the same old madness while I ask "Is this the place where I came in?"
So save your breath, don't tell me how it all comes out, somehow I think I know
I've heard that tear stained monologue you do there by the door before you go