| Moving like a stratus cloud, full of life and corner drugstore wine
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| I’ll write my name on a highway bus and kick the cans of progress left behind
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| Feeling like a cowboy, with sun down on my trail
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| Waiting for tomorrow’s fairytale
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| That’s when the simple pleasures start moving quietly
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| Relaxing all the hang-ups, that have control of me
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| Forgetting my confusion, I love the shape I’m in
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| And I hope those simple pleasures will quickly come again
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| My freelance style of living cuts a detour around the very, very staunch
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| They all applaud the journey’s end but few are even there to see the launch
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| Stealing from the cupboard of ulcer pills and booze
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| A ride through repetition I can’t use
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| That’s when the simple pleasures start moving quietly
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| Relaxing all the hang-ups, that have control of me
|
| Forgetting my confusion, I love the shape I’m in
|
| And I hope those simple pleasures will quickly come again
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| My happiness seems nothing to a well-established former passerby
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| His artificial body keeps reminding him to give it one more try
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| World is setting records, while others crawl too slow
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| But simple pleasures everywhere I go
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| That’s when the simple pleasures start moving quietly
|
| Relaxing all the hang-ups, that have control of me
|
| Forgetting my confusion, I love the shape I’m in
|
| And I hope those simple pleasures will quickly come again |