| There’s a man in my bed I used to love him
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| His kisses used to take my breath away
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| There’s a man in my bed I hardly know him
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| I wipe his face and hold his hand
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| And watch him as he slowly fades away
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| And he fades away
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| Not like leaves that fall in autumn
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| Turning gold against the grey
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| He fades away
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| Like the bloodstains on the pillow case
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| That I wash every day
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| He fades away
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| There’s a man in my bed, he’s on a pension
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| Although he’s only fifty years of age
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| The lawyer says we might get compensation
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| In the course of due procedure
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| But he couldn’t say for certain at this stage
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| And he’s not the only one
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| Who made that trip so many years ago
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| To work the Wittenoom mines
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| So many young men old before their time
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| And dying slow
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| He fades away
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| A wheezing bag of bones his
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| Lungs half clogged and full of clay
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| He fades away
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| There’s a man in my bed they never told him
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| The cost of bringing home his weekly pay
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| And when the courts decide how much they owe him
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| How will he spend his money
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| When he lies in bed and coughs his life away?
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| And he fades away
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| Not like leaves that fall in autumn
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| Turning gold against the grey
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| He fades away
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| Like the bloodstains on the pillow case
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| That I wash every day
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| He fades away |