In Rio the air is still warm in November
Blowing along by the bay
And you're locked in the bathroom of some rented palace
Washing the traces away
I wonder if you could have grown up an athlete
Breathless and lonely and free
But there you are clubbing in darkened sunglasses
Working it out on TV
They showed me the pictures, they gave me the story
Saw you splashed over the screen
Saw you wrapped in a sheet like the ghost at the feast
As they dragged you away from the scene
Out in the crowd by the Copacabana
Pushing your way through the press
For God's sake be quiet, there's nobody listening
There's no one about to confess
Is this what you dreamed, then?
Is this what you had in mind?
Did you buy your own ticket or were you just strapped to the ride?
If I sent you a postcard, who would send out the reply?
If I tried to stand by you, would I be taken aside?
Remember the long lazy Saturday mornings
Glued to cartoons on TV
Riding your bike down Ontario street
To pick up a cone of ice cream
Remember the wheels of your little red bike
And the bricks of the big Stratford hall
Now you're lost by the window of some private jet
And the streets are so awfully small
Is this what you dreamed, then?
A Is this what you had in mind?
Did you buy your own ticket or were you just strapped to the ride?
If I sent you a postcard, who would send back the reply?
If I tried to stand by you, would I be taken aside?