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I'm feeln' mighty lonesome, havn't slept a wink, |
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I walk the floor and watch the door and in between I drink black coffee. |
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Love's a hand-me-down broom. |
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I'll never know a Sunday, in this weekday room. |
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I'm talkin' to the shadows, |
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One o'clock to four, |
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And lord, how slow the moments go when all I do is pour black coffee. |
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Since the blues caught my eye. |
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I'm hangin' out on Monday my Sunday dreams to dry. |
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Now a man is born to go a lovin', |
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A woman's born to weep and fret. |
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To stay at home and rend her oven, |
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And drown her past regrets in coffee and cigarettes! |
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I'm moonin' all the mornin' and mournin' all the night, |
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And in between it's nicotine and not much heart to fight black coffee. |
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Feelin' low as the ground. |
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It's drivin' me crazy, this waitin' for my baby, |
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To maybe come a round. |