| On a dark and stormy morning
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| Waking with an aching in his head
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| Wiping off yesterday
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| All the hurtin' spiteful words that were said
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| Well it seems to me he’s falling
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| From grace in some sweet darling’s eyes
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| But somewhere there’s another town
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| And another woman waiting down the line
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| Lost love and slow trains
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| Whichever way you choose
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| It don’t ever get too bad
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| When you got them rambling, rose-colored blues
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| If he’s headed west and falls behind
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| Derailed 'neath the blue Missoula sky
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| If the whistle blows him east
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| Into the dirty screaming New York City life at night
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| He might sleep beneath the stars
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| Or some borrowed bed he’ll find along the way
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| He might charm a pretty face to keep him warm
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| But come the morning, on his way
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| Lost love and slow trains
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| Whichever way you choose
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| It don’t ever get too bad
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| When you got them rambling, rose-colored blues
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| No storyline of destiny, fable, or fantasy you’ll find
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| Just another nowhere man
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| Going anywhere, anytime he minds
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| So while the world turns and worries
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| Money, war and glory, right or wrong
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| Silhouetted by the gloaming, off he goes
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| Singing this old song
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| Lost love and slow trains
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| Whichever way you choose
|
| It don’t ever get too bad
|
| When you got them rambling, rose-colored blues
|
| It don’t ever get too bad
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| When you got them rambling, rose-colored blues |