| Looking for a street where the wind don’t blow
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| You pull your collar up, bottle up and go
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| Keep your conscience clear of an envious bag
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| You know I hate to hear it when you say that it’s a drag
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| Please give me shelter from the rumbling storm
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| I’m out here on the street, can’t find no peace at home
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| A microphone to help the old singer carry on
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| A tangled web is spun in the haunted house of song
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| Out of a window, a horn would beck and call
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| Every true believer doubting Thomas and Saint Paul
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| Saying please give us shelter from the coming storm
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| There not listening on the street, can’t find no peace at home, oh, no
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| Nosy Nostradamus puts himself in every place
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| An architect of ruins with a smile upon his face
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| Can’t say nothing till formless words appear
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| The crowd begins to sing, and their voice is fairly clear
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| Please give us shelter from the rumbling storm
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| There’s nothing on the street, can’t find no peace at home, oh, no
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| You can look for a street where the wind don’t blow
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| Or turn your collar up
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| Bottle up and go
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| You can look for a street where the wind don’t blow
|
| Or pull your collar up
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| Bottle up and go |