| So that’s where my head was at, in a book and a funky hat
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| On the road with Kerouac, searching for the truth
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| Sometimes I’m amazed, looking back at a certain phase
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| Wet my thumb and I turn the page, oh, what was I trying to prove?
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| I just shake my head and I laugh, at a faded photograph
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| Of a total stranger staring back at me
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| Now there’s no man stranger to himself
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| Than the man he used to be
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| There’s a closet full of worn out boots, skeletons and three-piece suits
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| A million hats and attitudes and very few regrets
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| And here I stand in faded jeans, an old t-shirt that don’t say a thing
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| And who knows what tomorrow brings, it ain’t over yet
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| No some folks get me confused, with someone they once knew
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| I know the guy they’re referring to, but he ain’t been round for years
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| I can see it in the eyes, it was a whole other life
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| Now there’s no man stranger to himself
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| No man stranger to himself, than the man he used to be |