| There was someone that I used to know
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| She was a personal friend of mine
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| We were lovers long ago
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| Back in the traveling times
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| And I happened to pass through her town
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| I thought I’d call her on the phone
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| So we could talk about what we’d found
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| She said, hey, please just leave me alone
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| Oh, and I
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| I don’t know
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| Everywhere I go
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| Sorrow is as thin as an electric mandolin
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| And the moon is as round as a banjo
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| I guess he took it pretty hard
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| He just kept drinking all through the night
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| We walked along by the old church yard
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| In the bloodshot morning light
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| He said, «I was always afraid she’d go away
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| I’ve been expecting it for years»
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| And as I looked at the cold blue bay
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| It looked like my friend’s eyes all full of tears
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| Oh, and I
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| I don’t know
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| Everywhere I go
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| Sorrow is as thin as an electric mandolin
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| And the moon is as round as a banjo
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| Oh, grandmother has seen such grief
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| That when she laughs we all go crazy
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| She says that it is her belief
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| That us youngsters get too lazy
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| We give up on love so fast
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| And we scatter out so wide and so far
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| We dream of no future and we love no past
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| Grandma don’t know where all her great grandchildren are
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| Oh, and I
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| I don’t know
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| Everywhere I go
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| Sorrow is as thin as an electric mandolin
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| And the moon is as round as a banjo
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| There’s so many of my friends
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| And I bet there’s some of yours too
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| Who find themselves at such loose ends
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| All grown up and nothing to do
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| Just trying to make a little dough
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| And help eachother through the dark
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| I hope they find a way to go
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| I pray they will not lose their spark
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| Oh, and I
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| I don’t know
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| Everywhere I go
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| Sorrow is as thin as an electric mandolin
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| And the moon is as round as a banjo
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| I’d like to meet you someplace
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| Besides a tavern or a station
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| Where we could look at eachother’s face
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| In a little better situation
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| We could have some supper and a talk
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| Play that music that we love
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| And we could take a country walk
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| Under the holy stars above
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| Oh, and I
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| I don’t know
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| Everywhere I go
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| Sorrow is as thin as an electric mandolin
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| And the moon is as round as a banjo |