| I like to go out walking in the ghost-town of my brain.
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| Kick the rusted scrap-iron of my memories and dreams.
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| Yeah, here’s a busted compass… look, the needle’s standing still.
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| Much as some folks hate to lose their way, me, I pray to God that I will.
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| I got a confession; |
| I never ever had no appetite for pain.
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| So it’s a mystery to me why I like walking in the ghost-town…
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| ghost-town of my brain.
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| I’m on a coal train headed south, guess we’re bound for Birmingham.
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| Thick as thieves with a black girl twice as messed-up as I am.
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| The smile upon her face betrays the sorrow in her heart.
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| Like the testimony of a fun house mirror that some fool broke apart.
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| Girl listen here; |
| you’re just a leaf caught in God’s secret hurricane.
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| And on this cold and dark wild midnight you are dancing in the ghost-town…
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| ghost-town of my brain.
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| Feel them magnets in the shadows?
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| Hear the voice of tranger virtue?
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| Take no comforts with them specters 'cause you know that they can hurt you.
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| Sweet mother load of secrets, feed my wild and endless hunger.
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| Seek the misty trail beyond the veil where the world gets torn asunder.
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| Gimme needles in the haystacks, Lord and riddles in the rain…
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| 'cause I like to go out walking in the ghost-town…ghost-town of my brain. |