| By townes van zandt
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| When the bandits have stolen your jewelry and gone
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| And your crippled young gypsy, hes grown tall and strong
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| And your dead misconceptions have proven you wrong
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| Well then, princess, where you plannin to turn to?
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| When your magazine memory has spun you around
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| And you realize your lovers were just painted clowns
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| And outside your window you start hearing sounds
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| Where theyre building a cross for to burn you
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| When all your bright scarlet turn slowly to blue
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| Will you stop and decide that its over?
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| When your teardrops go sour and no longer fall
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| The splash cross the virgin that lives down your hall
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| And spends all her nights with an ear to your wall
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| Well then, what will you have you can offer?
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| When the firedancers finish and leave you alone
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| With nothing but embers and sacks full of stone
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| That hang round your neck, slicing through to the bone
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| Will there still be place for your laughter?
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| As your shattered illusions come a-tumblin home
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| And all of the butchers youve nourished have grown
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| And they are suddenly able to leave you alone
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| And they run like slaves that are set free
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| When your questions are answered and your pleading is done
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| And your mind starts to screaming that you aint the one
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| That once dwelled within you, will you turn, will you run
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| Then princess, will you come home and get me? |