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I'm sitting wondering, watching the parade |
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In my ever-present chair |
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People laughing and smiles all around me |
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Balloons and paper in my hair |
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There's a man in a car with the top down |
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Waving wildly at me "The poor son of a gun", |
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I know he's thinking |
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Better him, him than me |
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I've stared down the devil, and had to look away |
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Called out to the angels, but no-one ever came |
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Laid down odd and even, but double zero played |
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That's alright, |
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I'm a lucky one |
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Such a fortunate son |
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I was always taught well, taught well |
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To be the strong one and keep it inside |
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But sometimes |
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I sit beside the freeway |
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And howl out at the dark, dark sky |
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I might just have to go out and burn one |
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Have a drink or a few |
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Fade away in a cloudy haze of smoke |
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And give the old man's best salute |
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I've stared down the devil, and had to look away |
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Called out to the angels, but no-one ever came |
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Laid down odd and even, but double zero played |
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That's alright, |
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I'm a lucky one |
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Such a fortunate son |