| We passed eight hundred miles, talking circles about living with loss
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| You said your sense of humor’s always helped you get above and across
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| Every hurdle, every chasm, every shocking and unspeakable blow
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| Just proves the universe is chaos, so you laugh to clear the lump from your
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| throat
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| But if you’re fixed on being bitter
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| Go be bitter on your own
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| We’re still two hours from El Paso
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| Arizona’s such a long way to go
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| The chemicals were coursing through our bloodstreams at incongruous rates
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| I was time-traveling inward through a past life I can never erase
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| You were hanging out the window
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| You said, «We're just a beggar’s banquet in space.»
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| And you were laughing at the moon
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| And you were cursing it for wearing your face
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| Me and New Mexico are orphans
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| Or is it bastards?
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| Either way: I think I know a guy in Roswell
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| We’ll hitch a moon ride
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| Steal you back your face
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| You sleep and whistle «Blackbird» backwards while my eyes cut her name in clay
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| You wake to Mesa, Arizona
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| Say, «Let it go, she’ll change her mind someday.»
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| You took the wheel in Mesa, Arizona
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| «I got the rest, man
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| You can drift away.» |