| Well I’m changing all my strings
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| I’m gonna write another traveling song
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| About all the billion highways and the cities at the break of dawn
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| Well I guess the best that I can do now is pretend that I’ve done nothing wrong
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| And to dream about a train that’s gonna take me back where I belong
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| Well now the ocean speaks and spits and I can hear it from the interstate
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| And I’m screaming at my brother on a cell phone he is far away
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| I’m saying nothing in the past or future ever will feel like today
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| Until we’re parking in an alley
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| Just hoping that our shit is safe
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| So I go back and forth forever
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| All my thoughts they come in pairs
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| Oh I will, I won’t, I doubt I don’t
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| I’m not surprised but I never feel quite prepared
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| Now I’m hunched over a typewriter
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| I guess you call that painting in a cave
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| And there’s a word I can’t remember
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| And a feeling I cannot escape
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| And now my ashtray’s overflowing
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| I’m still staring at a clean white page
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| Oh and morning’s at my window
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| She is sending me to bed again
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| Well I dream of dark on the horizon
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| I dream a desert where the dead lay down
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| I dream a prostituted child touching an old man in a fast food crowd
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| Oh yeah, I dreamt a ship was sinking
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| There was people screaming all around
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| And I awoke to my alarm clock
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| It was a pop song, it was playing loud
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| So I will find my fears and face them
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| Or I will cower like a dog
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| I will kick and scream or kneel and plead
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| I’ll fight like hell to hide that I’ve given up |