| Two in the morning, dry-dock town
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| The rivers rolls away in the night
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| Little gypsy moth she’s all tied down
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| She quiver in the wind and the light
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| Yeah, and a sailing ship just held down in chains
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| From the lazy days of sail
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| She’s just lying there in silent pain
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| He lean on the tourist rail
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| A mother and her baby and the college of war
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| In the concrete graves
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| You never want to fight against the river law
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| Nobody rules the waves
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| Yeah and on a night when the lazy wind is a-wailing
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| Around the Cutty Sark
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| Single handed sailor goes sailing
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| Sailing away in the dark
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| He’s upon the bridge on the self same night
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| The mariner of dry dock land
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| Two in the morning, but there is one green light
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| And a man on the barge of sand
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| She’s going to slip away below him
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| Away from the things he’s done
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| But he just shouts «Hey man, what do you call this thing?»
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| He could have said «Pride of London»
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| On a night when the lazy wind is a-wailing
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| Around the Cutty Sark
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| Yeah the single handed sailor goes sailing
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| Sailing away in the dark |