| Winter in your coats never seems to cease
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| They pictured you in summer, and you think you felt the heat
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| Having all your favorite colors while advertising smiles
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| But what’s the favorite color of the high blue sky?
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| Putting words in your mouth, they can say what they want
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| You’re convinced that is true, while they shackle your soul
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| With pockets full of money, you don’t need the Sun to shine
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| You’re a trunk of a dead-tree, but you think you’re really fine
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| And hanging on a dark road
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| I always see the light
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| Carrying dreams in empty pockets
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| With no home to rest tonight
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| I drink to shiver sadness
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| With broken wings to fly
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| So they can call me drunken bastard
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| But my heart and soul they cannot deny
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| Seven days a week you don’t have time to think:
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| Are you heading for tomorrow? |
| Have your eyes lost their gleam?
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| Is the smile on your face as happy as it seems?
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| Does your last tear rest on forgotten shelf of dreams? |