| I would not be so stoned
|
| If my Mary were here
|
| I don’t think I’d have phoned you
|
| If my Mary were here
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| I’m a sad sack Sir Galahad
|
| Who’s sword’s around his knees
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| With a Grail no longer holy
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| And a prayer that’s saying — please
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| I would not be alone
|
| If my Mary were here
|
| But she took off
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| And Lord I’m lost
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| I don’t think I’d be drinking
|
| If my Mary were here
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| And I know what I’d be thinking
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| If my Mary were here
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| We’d be wrapping up a blanket
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| Full of cheddar cheese and wine
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| Packing up our camper with a rendezvous in mind
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| And we’d picnic out in Lincoln Park
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| If Mary were here
|
| But she split
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| So I got lit
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| I’m sorry that I called you
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| In the middle of the night
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| But you’re the one who listens
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| When I need a little light
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| I know we haven’t talked
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| Since I dropped you in the dirt
|
| I know you’re not my lady now
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| But Baby, how I hurt
|
| (I could whistle up an old tune
|
| That your memory might recall
|
| Rustle up some reminisce
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| 'Bout the good old days and all
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| If I were seeking someone else
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| I could find a way to hide
|
| But I’m pleading like a pauper, Babe |
| And it leaves no place for pride)
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| I would toss away my troubles
|
| When my Mary was here
|
| But now I’m lost inside the rubble
|
| Cause my Mary’s not here
|
| So could I come on over
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| With my heart in my hands
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| And place it on your pillow
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| Like a rusty old tin can
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| I’m drunk and seeing double
|
| And my Mary’s not here
|
| Once again
|
| Be the friend
|
| That you’ve been
|
| And take me in
|
| Please take me in |