| I’ll jump in the sea
|
| Wearing all of my clothes
|
| I’ll swim out from this red patch
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| To the pier and its old bones
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| The tide will sweep me out
|
| I’ll swim back to land
|
| I’ll walk through this old valley
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| And smile as I stand
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| We can stay here and sing songs for better days
|
| We can stay here and we won’t fade away
|
| How could you ever deny it
|
| The golden age of not even trying
|
| I miss the old man
|
| Who played harmonica on the street
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| He played it with such character
|
| These days that’s rare to see
|
| Its rare to be an artist
|
| Its rare to have a cause
|
| Its rare to stand by anything we say
|
| These days we are all whores
|
| We can stay here and sing songs for better days
|
| We can stay here and we won’t fade away
|
| How could you ever deny it
|
| The golden age of not even trying
|
| There’s a head in the water
|
| There’s someone at sea
|
| I shouldn’t waste my time personifying
|
| These damn waves as they are trying
|
| Its our golden age
|
| We can stay here and sing songs for better days
|
| We can stay here and we won’t fade away
|
| How could you ever deny it
|
| The golden age of not even trying |