| Sitting in traffic on the Tappan Zee
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| Fifty million people out in front of me
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| Trying to cross the water but it just might be a while
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| Rain’s coming down I can’t see a thing
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| Radio’s broken so I’m whistling
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| New York to Nyack feels like a hundred miles
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| It’s not right
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| It’s not fair
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| I’m still a mess
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| And you still don’t care
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| I go to work
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| I come back home
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| But you’re still gone
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| And I’m still alone
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| And the little red light’s not blinking
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| No, no the little red light’s not blinking
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| No, no the little red light’s not blinking
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| On my big black plastic Japanese cordless phone
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| Oh no
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| Stuck in a meeting on Monday night
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| Trying to get the numbers to come out right
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| I’m getting tired, I think I just might need a drink
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| And as I’m reaching in the bottom drawer
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| I’m dreaming 'bout the way it was before
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| Life was so easy I never really had to think
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| It’s not right
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| It’s not fair
|
| I’m still a mess
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| And you still don’t care
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| I go to sleep
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| When I wake up
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| The pain sets in
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| And it never stops
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| And the little red light’s not blinking
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| No, no the little red light’s not blinking
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| No, no the little red light’s not blinking
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| On the desktop mailbox of my big black laptop
|
| Oh no
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| It’s not right
|
| It’s not fair
|
| I’m still a mess
|
| And you still don’t care
|
| I go to work
|
| I come back home
|
| But you’re still gone
|
| And I’m still alone
|
| And the little red light’s not blinking
|
| No, no the little red light’s not blinking
|
| No, no the little red light’s not blinking
|
| On my big black Radio Shack digital portable phone
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| Oh no |