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He went to Paris, lookin' for answers |
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To questions that bothered him so |
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He was impressive, young and aggressive |
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Savin' the world on his own |
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But the warm summer breezes |
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The French wines and cheeses put his ambition at bay |
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The summers and winters, scattered like splinters |
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And four or five years slipped away |
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Then he went to England, played the piano |
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And married an actress named Kim |
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They had a fine life, she was a good wife |
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And bore him a young son named Jim |
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And all of the answers and all of the questions |
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Locked in his attic one day |
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'Cause he liked the quiet, clean country livin' |
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And twenty more years slipped away |
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Well the war took his baby, bombs killed his lady |
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And left him with only one eye |
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His body was battered, his whole world was shattered |
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And all he could do was just cry |
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While the tears were a-fallin', he was recallin' |
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Answers he never found |
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So he hopped on a freighter, skidded the ocean |
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And left England without a sound |
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Now he lives in the islands, fishes the pilin's |
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And drinks his Green Label each day |
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Writing his memoirs, losin' his hearin' |
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But he don't care what most people say |
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Through eighty-six years of perpetual motion |
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If he likes you he'll smile and he'll say |
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"Jimmy, some of it's magic, some of it's tragic |
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But I had a good life all the way" |
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And he went to Paris lookin' for answers |
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To questions that bothered him so |