In a bar in Torino, away from the people
On a barstool he stared at his glove
In his costume with sequins, I thought I was peeking
At a sparkly, strange bird from above.
He saw me and muttered, that he was "no nutter,
And I know that I look out of place.
I'm just an escaper, don't want the newspapers
To see me with all of this egg on my face."

So I looked closely at him, and that's when I knew him
The champ from the U-S-of-A
Who started so strong, and then bombed in the long
I didn't quite know what to say
His shoulders were sagging, his feathers were drooping
For a minute I thought he would cry
Then he got pissed, and he shook his small fist, then
He turned to his glove, and he sighed,

"You picked a fine time to leave me, Camille
In less than five minutes I could make my dream real
I was ahead, and that silver medal
Was something this skater could feel.
You picked a fine time to leave me, Camille."

I patted his shoulder, and ordered more whiskey
I watched him berating his hand
He said, "I lost my aura, and I couldn't remember
Just how many jumps I could land.
I tried to fake it, but I couldn't make it,
I knew then I'd run out of luck.
My grace was gone, and instead of a swan
I suddenly felt more like a duck."

"You picked a fine time to leave me, Camille
In less than five minutes, I could make my dream real
I was ahead, and that silver medal
Was something this skater could feel
You picked a fine time to leave me, Camille."