| In this country of nowhere
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| On this sphere of spheres
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| On the 19th day of April
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| When the full moon re-appears
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| There’s a new one for the old guard
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| It’s a cautionary tale
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| From the front porch and the backyard
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| One last postcard in the mail
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| From the 440 Parkway
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| You can take the 40 west
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| Perhaps it’s best we part ways
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| 'Til I get this off my chest
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| We could end before it starts up
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| But then, what would be the point
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| You think she’s out but then she sparks up
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| Because she loves to rock this joint
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| Colli-colli-collision
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| You’ve got nothing to hide
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| My imagination
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| Behind tired eyes open wide
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| Colli-colli-collision
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| I’m told that’s what they call it
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| Down here
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| But maybe Doug was simply bending my ear
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| We’re scheming down in Dreamland
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| Through futures black and white
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| Our mind is crossing interstates
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| And provinces of night
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| Spin some Southern Gothic
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| To find some northern haze
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| C’mon man, come off it
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| Slow it down on lazy days
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| Colli-colli-collision
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| Man, the fix is in
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| Confusing this illusion
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| Is anyone listening?
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| Colli-colli-collision
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| I’m told that’s what they call it
|
| Down here
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| Counting down my 44 years
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| One eye on the white line
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| Between the dream and the delusion
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| One on the horizon
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| As we cruise into
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| Colli-colli-collision
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| I heard it on the wire
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| Blowin' kisses to the misses
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| And so it does conspire
|
| Colli-colli-collision
|
| I’m told that’s what they call it
|
| Down here
|
| But maybe Doug was simply bending my ear
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| Objections in the rearview mirror
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| Maybe closer than they appear |