| This country is my canvas
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| I leave paint trails as I go
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| I’m painting a picture
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| That you can only see from outer space
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| My bedroom is your sofa
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| I take my breakfast on the train
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| I’m tired and I’m dirty, and not a second goes to waste
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| I’ll be dead but never dying, and I say that with a smile
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| It’s just my way of trying to be alive
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| Well I’ll never get to grey hair
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| And I’ll never be in the black
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| But I can tell stories that most can hardly dream
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| Dreaming is a luxury
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| Like stopping-staring and beauty sleep
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| I’ll stop when I’m finished
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| And sleep is for the week
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| I’ll be dead but never dying, and I say that with a smile
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| It’s just my way of trying to be alive
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| Heaven’s in the half-light, and that’s where I reside
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| A whiskey and a wry smile
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| I check my vital signs
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| And when I’m gone
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| The worlds revolve and life goes on
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| So mark no grave
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| Forget my name
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| If the song remains
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| And everybody’s got a drink and a smile
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| Well, that’s just fine by me
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| Heaven’s in the half-light, and that’s where I reside
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| A whiskey and a wry smile
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| I check my vital signs
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| I’ll be dead but never dying, and I say that with a smile
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| It’s just my way of trying to be alive |