| You were chasing him down Braodway on that white-hot July
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| 'Cause he thought he’d got a message from some holy man on high
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| He said his chance had finally come; |
| he’d done it on his own
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| He had to leave his past behind; |
| the first thing that had to go--was
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| Home
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| You put him in an aeroplane and packed your life and clothes
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| You learned all the lessons that the suitcase lady knows
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| He said, «Something still drags me back from where I’m heading to,»
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| You didn’t really understand, 'til the next thing that had to go--was
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| You
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| Some things are sacrificed and some things remain
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| Some things bring pleasure and some things bring pain
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| Some things must pass away, and some things are regained
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| When the whole world is changing, why should people stay the same?
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| You saw his picture in the paper, that disarming boyish smile
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| You sometimes had to swallow hard as you saw him on the dial
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| You heard him on a talk show, he was hearing no one else
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| Then suddenly you knew too well, the last thing he’d left behind--was
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| Himself
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| Some things are sacrificed and some things remain
|
| Some things bring pleasure and some things bring pain
|
| Some things must pass away, and some things are regained
|
| When the whole world is changing, why should people stay the same?
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| So you pulled yourself together, friends and family said you should
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| You discovered you were doing things you never knew you could
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| And someday when he calls you, which you know of course he’ll do
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| You’ll just send him away again, 'cause the last thing you finally
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| Found--was
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| You |