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Unknown engines underneath the city |
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Steam pushing up in billows through the grates |
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Frankie Lymon's tracking "Seabreeze" in a studio in Harlem |
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Its 1968. |
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Just a pair of tunes to hammer out. |
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Everybody's off the clock by 10:00. |
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The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. |
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Feels so free when I hit the avenue. |
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Nothing like a New York summer night. |
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Every dream's a good dream, |
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Even awful dreams are good dreams, |
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If you're doing it right. |
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Remember soaring higher than a cloud. |
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Get pretty sentimental now and then. |
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The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. |
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And four hours north of Portland, a radio flips on. |
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And some no one from the future remembers that you're gone. |
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Armies massing in the dusky distance. |
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Ghosted in the ribbon microphone. |
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Leave a little mark on something, maybe, |
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Take the secret circuit home. |
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Nothing in the shadows but the shadow hands. |
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Reaching out to sad, young, frightened men. |
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The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. |
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Yeah, the loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. |