| He went to Paris
|
| Looking for answers
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| To questions that bothered him so He was impressive
|
| Young and aggressive
|
| Savin the world on his own
|
| But the warm summer breezes
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| The French wines and cheeses
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| Put him ambition at bay
|
| His summers and winters
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| Scattered like splinters
|
| And four to five yeas slipped away
|
| Then he went to England
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| Played the piano
|
| And married an actress named Kim
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| They had a fine life, she was a good wife
|
| And bore him young son named Jim
|
| And all of the answers, and all the questions
|
| He locked in his attic one day
|
| Cause he liked the quiet
|
| Clean country livin and
|
| Twenty more years slipped away
|
| Well, the war took his baby
|
| Bombs killed his lady
|
| And left him with only one eye
|
| His body was battered
|
| His whole world was shattered
|
| And all he could do was just cry
|
| While the tears were falling and he was recalling
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| Answers hed never found
|
| So he hopped on a freighter, skidded the ocean
|
| And left England without a sound
|
| Now he lives in the islands
|
| Fishes and pilins
|
| And drinks his green label each day
|
| Writing his memoirs
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| Losin his hearin
|
| But he dont care what most people
|
| Through eighty-six years of perpetual motion
|
| If he likes you hell smile, and hell say, Jimmy, some of its magic,
|
| some of its tragic
|
| But I had a good life all of the way.
|
| And he went to Paris
|
| Lookin for answers to questions
|
| That bothered him so |