| From under your sheets out into the hall
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| You sleepwalk through the rooms where you grew up
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| Out through the porch and the old front doors
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| Carried by words that you learned when you were small
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| Down the stone steps and into the night
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| It’s the boulevard and the hum of her hard lights
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| And when you open your eyes you’re in Central Park
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| Carried by the words that you learned when you woke up:
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| Even though — i thought i was — all alone — i was wrong
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| Even though — i thought i was — all alone — i am not
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| You can hurry home to mama and your house of doors
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| Get the bolt in the hole and you can close all the windows
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| But keeping out the killers and keeping out the creeps
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| Isn’t keeping out the doubt and the disbelief
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| As they look for god in them ivory halls
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| You can see her on the porch, listening to the radio
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| Singing that wanderer’s song:
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| Even though — i thought i was — all alone — i was wrong
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| Even though — i thought i was — all alone — i am not
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| Even though — i thought i was — i was wrong — i am not
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| And even if — you’re scared stiff — you can trust in this — you can trust in
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| this |