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Now should you expect to see something that you hadn't seen |
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In somebody you'd known since you were sixteen? |
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If love is a bolt from the blue |
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Then what is that bolt but a glorified screw |
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And that doesn't hold nothing together |
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Far from these nonsense bars and their nowhere music |
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It's making me sick, I know it's making you sick |
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There's nothing there, it's like eating air |
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It's like drinking gin with nothing else in |
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And that doesn't hold me together |
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But for one crowded hour |
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You were the only one in the room |
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I sailed around all those bumps in the night |
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To your beacon in the gloom |
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I thought I had found my golden September |
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In the middle of that purple June |
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But one crowded hour |
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Would lead to my wreck and ruin |
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And I know you like your boys to take their medicine |
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From the bowl with a silver spoon |
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Who'd run away with the dish and scare the fish |
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By the silvery light of the moon |
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Who were taught from the womb to believe to the tune |
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In as far as their bleeding eyes see |
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Is a pleasure pen, meant for them, built and rent for them |
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Not for the likes of me, no, not for the likes of you and me |
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And for one crowded hour |
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You were the only one in the room |
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And I sailed around all those bumps in the night |
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To your beacon in the gloom |
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I thought I had found my golden September |
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In the middle of that purple June |
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But one crowded hour |
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Would lead to my wreck and ruin |
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Oh, but the green eyed harpy of the song land |
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She takes into hers, my hand |
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She says, "Boy, I know you're lying |
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Oh, but then, so am I", and to this I said, "Oh well" |
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And they put me in a cage full of lions, I learned to speak lion |
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In fact I know the language well |
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I picked it up while I was versing myself |
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In the languages they speak in hell |
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That night, the silence gave birth to a baby |
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They took it away to her silent dismay |
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And they raised it to be a lady |
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Now she can't keep her mouth shut |
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And for one crowded hour |
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You were the only one in the room |
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And I sailed around all those bumps in the night |
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To your beacon in the gloom |
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I thought I had found my golden September |
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In the middle of that purple June |
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But one crowded hour |
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Would lead to my wreck and ruin |
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Yes, that one crowded hour |
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You were the only one in the room |
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Well, I played a few songs for those bumps in the night |
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In fact I played this very tune |
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You said, "What is this six stringed instrument |
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But an adolescent loom?" |
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And one crowded hour |
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Would lead to my wreck and ruin |
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I say, one crowded hour |
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Would lead to my wreck and ruin |
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One crowded hour |
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Would lead to my wreck and ruin |