| I found out on a Monday
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| The city I love doesn’t love me
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| In fact fuck that
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| It would rather see me dead
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| I hesitated for a minute
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| But I packed my bag that evening
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| I didn’t tell you I was leaving
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| I didn’t feel safe staying here
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| So I just left
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| Got in my red Camaro
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| In my head no tomorrow
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| Realized it had all been borrowed time
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| That I was living on till now
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| The sun came up less friendly
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| My sense of safety dead
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| Before the red sky gave way to cold blue
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| I wonder who I might be now
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| From the wrong road, miles from no place
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| From the road I call and call
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| This whole world is no place
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| This world is no place at all
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| No place for a creature like me
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| So if you’re like me indeed
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| Meet me somewhere way out
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| On the outer outskirts of town
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| At the BP diesel station
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| In my sick imagination
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| You’re already on your way
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| To take my hand and hold me up so I don’t drown
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| I just pray you get this letter
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| I hid it in your sweater drawer
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| So the authorities could never see
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| The plan that I put down
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| But all the warming weather
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| May mean that you won’t ever
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| Reach into the secret drawer
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| And maybe you’d inform the landlord anyway
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| Let me say it again, in a better way
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| I need a pile of rubble
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| To call my domicile
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| Far from the violent rabble
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| And could I trouble you to come along
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| And listen to me babble
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| How long will we babble on in exile
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| Babble on in exile
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| And something tells me I may be
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| Singing this song a long, long while
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| But I’ll be bringing along a big broad smile
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| To wear as I walk that final long mile
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| Back to the city where they broke my heart wide open
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| Bleeding on the marble tile
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| From the wrong road, miles from no place
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| From the road I call and call
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| This whole world is no place
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| This world is no place at all |