| Tommy had a watch, a good kind of watch
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| It wouldn’t tell time if you asked it
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| Didn’t have a face, just an ear and an eye
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| To see him with
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| Tommy stole candy from the cornerstore
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| And gave it to the mice he built a home for
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| By the side of the heater, next to his guitar
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| That he could neither play nor destroy
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| Tommy wrote a letter to the office of iniquity
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| Demanding a history of his actions
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| But the letter was returned just 2 days gone
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| There was no office of iniquity
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| Tommy couldn’t see so well and he didn’t have a radio
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| He’d talk to himself in different voices
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| Or sing to himself in a Russian dialect
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| Invented on a Sunday afternoon
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| Tommy stole a limp and he borrowed a demeanor
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| So he’d scare anybody who’d want to talk away
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| 'Cause they frightened him so bad that he’d pee down his legs
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| As he tried, very hard, to find the words
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| Tommy wore the helmet of a frustrated miner
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| Digging for words as though gold
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| Standing in the mud in his dark gray fedora
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| Wearing his knee-patched dungarees
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| Tommy was alone when the fire started
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| High behind the wheel of a colt 45
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| With a clip full of ether and a bucket full of gas
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| And a belly full of turpentine
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| Tommy made sure there was no one in danger
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| By knocking on each door like a madman
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| Then he locked himself in and did the whirling dervish
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| Tipped the candle over on the floor
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| Tommy fell asleep before the firemen came
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| Which was good because they scared him anyway
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| All that they found were the mice inside the fridge
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| In a box, with some cheese
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| And a handwarmer, run on batteries
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| Tommy was a good man. |
| Nobody Knew
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| Tommy was a good man. |
| Nobody Knew |