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I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel. You were talking so brave and so sweet. Giving
me head on the unmade bed while the limousines wait in the street. And those were the reasons,
and that was New York. We were running for the money and the flesh. But that was called
love by the workers in song, probably still is for those of them left. But you got away,
didn't you baby? You just turned your back on the crowd. You got away, I never once heard
you say, "I need you, I don't need you, I need you, I don't need you," and all of that
jiving around. And I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel. You were famous, your heart
was a legend. You told me again you liked masculine men, but for me, you would make
an exception. And clenching your fists for the ones like us who were oppressed by the
have the music." And you got away, didn't you baby? You just turned your back on the
crowd. You got away. I never once heard you say, "I need you, I don't need you, I need
you, I don't need you," and all of that jiving around. I don't mean to suggest that I loved
you the best. I can't keep track of each falling robin. But I remember you well in the Chelsea
Hotel. And that's all, I don't think of you that often.