| I keep recycling stories from my youth
|
| That I’ve told before
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| Conversations with myself
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| Have become such a bore
|
| Struggling to find the rhythm
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| In these blues of mine
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| I’ve been living out of focus
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| Bearing of life and lie
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| If I try to change direction
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| I might not find what I’m looking for
|
| But this bitter disposition
|
| Well now must surely run its course
|
| Ooh
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| Now I’ve been given the gift of persistence
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| But it’s become a curse
|
| Unraveling backward
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| In the distance I heard a dirge
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| I can see a man
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| On his face there’s no trace of time
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| There’s a strange and mad idea I must find
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| If I try to change direction
|
| I might not find what I’m looking for
|
| But this bitter disposition
|
| Well now must surely run its course
|
| Ooh
|
| I wanna change direction
|
| If I try to change direction
|
| I might not find what I’m looking for
|
| But this bitter disposition
|
| Well now must surely run its course
|
| So if I try to change direction
|
| I might not find what I’m looking for
|
| But this bitter disposition
|
| Well now must surely run its course
|
| Ooh |