| It’s the sad-eyed, goodbye, yesterday moments I remember
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| It’s the bleak street, weak-kneed partings I recall
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| It’s the mistier mist
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| The hazier days
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| The brighter sun
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| And the easier lays
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| There’s all the more reason for laughing and crying
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| When you’re younger and life isn’t too hard at all
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| It’s the fantastic drowse of the afternoon Sundays
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| That bored you to rages of tears
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| The unending pleadings, to waste all your good times
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| In thoughts of your middle aged years
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| It’s a vertical hold, all the things that you’re told
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| For the everyday hero it all turns to zero
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| And there’s all the more reason for living or dying
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| When you’re young and your troubles are all very small
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| Out here on the street
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| We’d gather and meet
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| And scuff up the sidewalk with endlessly restless feet
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| Half of the time
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| We’d broaden our minds
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| More in the poolhall than we did in the schoolhall
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| With the downtown chewing-gum bums
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| Watching the nightlife, the lights and the fun
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| Never wanted to be the boy next door
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| Always thought I’d be something more
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| But it ain’t easy for a smalltown boy
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| It ain’t easy at all
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| Thinkin' it right, doin' it wrong
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| It’s easier from an armchair
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| Waves of alternatives
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| Wash at my sleepiness
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| Have my eggs poached for
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| breakfast I guess
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| I think I’ll be Clint Eastwood
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| Jimi Hendrix, he was good,
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| William The Conqueror
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| Now, who else do I like? |