| Kneeling at the hotel reception
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| Violin a-sobbing on his knee
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| Twenty bright rozellas on his shoulder
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| Coin from a wealthy Ceylonese
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| Hungry people hangin' on the corner
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| Other people cruisin' by in cars
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| Feeding on the fiction and the porno
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| Staring at the tattoos and the scars
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| Conversations, Conversations
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| Icy nights and almighty patience
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| Well some of us are driven to ambition
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| Some of us are trapped behind the wheel
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| Some of us will break away, and build a marble yesterday
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| And live for every moment we can steal
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| Conversations, Conversations
|
| Shouting out across an empty station
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| Now it’s just another Tuesday morning
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| Billy’s wrapped up tight against the chill
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| The busker packs his birds beneath the awning
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| Billy’s got his eyes upon the till
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| He could get a ticket out of here from a local easy lawyer
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| The busker’s halfway home, Billy’s lounging round the foyer
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| Love so easily dies when there’s nothing left to conquer
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| One small break is all he needs, and life ain’t getting longer
|
| Conversations, Conversations
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| Breakfast show to a sleepy nation |