| Everyone’s called off the searches
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| Faces that nobody knows
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| The devil is hiding in churches
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| The sun has burned my eyes
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| Got me making that face again
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| I’m driving my dented car in donuts
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| Listening to that same old mixtape, my friend
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| The one that starts and ends
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| With odds and ends and a dumb dance song
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| As a troubled name with a subtle way
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| Is saying that she thinks that I’m handsome
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| As shuttles crash and buildings fall
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| And diseases fly on airplanes
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| I wonder where the romance has gone
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| Peter, Dan, and Tom got us by the purse strings
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| I want to build you a house
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| In the country, with the son of Michael Landon
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| But I want to protect my couch
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| And my collection of rusty handguns
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| It’s as tough as nails, as tough as tigers
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| As tough as tricky shots
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| But I believe the dreams of my father
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| It’s the only dreams that I’ve got
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| I’ve never seen the top
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| Give me a good, solid lay of the land
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| But I guess a guess is just a guess
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| And the first step to finding the facts at hand
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| I hate the bleeding hearts and hard-heads
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| As much as the nervous man hates the taste of a stutter
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| You know what they say: in the land of the blind
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| The man with one eye’s on every tabloid cover
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| It’s not a case of me vs. the others
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| 1,000 monkeys vs. man
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| Before the Lord lays me down to sleep
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| I pray that you’ll understand
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| I need my room to breathe
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| My own private patch of dirt
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| Where I can raise my sheep and make my beats
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| And teach my kids to curse
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| I need a sandwich and a hammock
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| But not a butler or a reporter
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| Just a couple good folk to watch my back
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| But never watch over my shoulder
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| It’s as pretty as a picture
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| And it stands alone without a frame
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| That’s why it sits all silent inside my wallet
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| Waiting for you to see my dreams |