| The last time I saw William, he was as good as gone
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| He’d packed up all his poetry and his hurtin' songs
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| Well they say that he died, but the papers lied
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| About our long lost favourite song
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| And the last time I saw William, he was all undone
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| He’d lost his bag of thunder, and his brave disguise
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| He was trying to find some kind of peace of mind with brand new eyes
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| But it all came back in shades of black, like a past that’s just begun
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| And the last time I saw William, he was a man on the run
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| He said
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| It’s better to fly than to hold on to shaky ground
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| It’s better to let the feelings die, when they’re holding you down
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| I saw a long line of loneliness in the corner of his eye
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| But I never did see William cry
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| Now the years run down the boulevard, and the marquee is long gone
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| There’s a troubadour in an empty bar, playin' hurtin' songs
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| All the gold and praise from the glory days cannot save our souls tonight
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| And the last time that I saw William
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| He was walking away, walking away from the light
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| It’s better to fly than to hold on to shaky ground
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| It’s better to let the feelings die, when they’re holding you down
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| I saw a long line of loneliness in the corner of his eye
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| But I never did see William cry
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| The last time I saw William, he was all undone |