Is This What You Dreamed, Then?

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?