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There's a house on a hill you can hear it still, contemplation |
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There's a table a chair and a room that is spare, isolation |
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The topics discussed include dust, to the state of the nation |
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And the people in there trade in joy or disrepair, satisfaction |
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And there are 15 steps to heaven |
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Eddie Cochran got it wrong, and if you sow lend me your soul you feel the shake rattle and roll |
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Before to long |
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There's a time and a place and the thrill of the chase, deconstruction |
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You could let your guard down but it won't bring around, supplication |
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And it seems days on end till the sight of friend in conversation |
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But if things get you down its a short ride to town for libation |
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Nothing ever seems to hurry |
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There is no Greenwich mean time there |
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And with the setting of the sun strange if anything gets done, but we don't care |
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May the night be my ear voices whisper in your ear, apparition |
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but when the wind blows and the old timbers glow, superstition |
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But there's no finer place to zone in and embrace, the seclusion |
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it's as sharp as a knife and the rest of your life is an illusion |
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And nothing ever seems to hurry, there is no Greenwich mean time there |
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and with the setting of the sun its strange if anything gets done |
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But we don't care |
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Cos there are 15 steps to heaven |
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Old Eddie Cochran got it wrong, and if you sow lend me your soul you feel the shake rattle and roll |
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Before to long |