| «Mistreat me darling and I might just disappear»
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| Upon freighter running dark out of Algiers
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| Put tiny grains in children’s tears
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| While taking 25% of all the flashbulbs and mementoes
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| From the mechanized divisions rolling over your frontiers
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| I saw my baby talking with another man today
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| Speaking softly in a confidential way
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| I saw a shadow pull his glove off
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| As a bluebird flew over
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| Life’s is no pleasure
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| When you doubt the one you love
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| Who Are All These Strangers?
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| I never will go back again
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| Go back into the past
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| For the flood is rising fast
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| You can break your window and look down
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| Into a muddy glass
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| It’s mirror or lens to burn
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| There was a deal done in Benghazi and Belgrade
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| Upon a scimitar or other crooked blade
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| Ransacks and loots, vacated suits
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| And pistol points but never shoots
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| Army sitting in a locomotive yard without their boots
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| Upstairs your man is painting the rain out in the street
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| Imagines woman that he’s destined still to meet
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| He’s trying sidetrack one to count on
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| Caught somewhere between countess or a courtesan
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| And it’s only love to feign and then it’s gone
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| He’s a privateer as dusk gets near
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| A brigand after dark, his victim lined with chalk
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| A corsair, filled with horsehair to the core
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| Dashed on your eyes of Adamantine
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| You despised his stripling whine
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| That little smudger and the mouthpiece that he’s with
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| Using his clause just like a practised fingersmith
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| I dreamed I took his digit prints
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| And then sewed then on a villain’s hands
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| Watched him ransom and demand
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| Until called the flatfoots in
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| Who Are All These Strangers?
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| All These Strangers
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| I sat down on a narrow bed
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| I thought about the things she said
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| All These Strangers
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| How I wished the night would never end
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| So tried to stop the days ahead
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| I’d carve her name down in the wood
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| Some small remembrance if I could |