| She opens the top of her new cocaine packet,
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| Shuffles about in her dim and dark hovel,
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| Like a frightened old witch with pure panic she shivers,
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| Sweats like a pig and the neighbours she sickens,
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| Her darkened room, it has long seen a visitor,
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| Her frightened scowl is a permanent fixture,
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| The postman delivers the final reminders,
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| She tries not to see them and thinks herself finer.
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| Sniffs not to think of I, me and myself,
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| Lines up the coke and goes off in a dream,
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| Home is a place, I don’t know where that is,
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| So my dreams have been bottled and labelled with love.
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| During her youth a North Country cowboy,
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| Made all her night-life a time of excitement,
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| She moved to his manor and stayed near the cowboy,
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| She learned from a distance how romance won’t fix her.
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| He became drinker and she became mother,
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| She knew that she couldn’t live life with another,
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| She became a controller and moved to a city,
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| Scared of her feelings, she kept herself pretty.
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| Drinks not to think of I, me and myself,
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| Gets into fights and ends up in a cell,
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| Home is a love, I don’t know what that means,
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| So the pain has been bottled, I’ll stay with my dreams.
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| She made up her mind to become a pop singer,
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| She believed then that nobody would scold her,
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| She’d have all the power and then she’d be happy,
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| But with no self-esteem, she threw it away.
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| There came a time when nobody was listening,
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| It was so hard just to sit with her feelings,
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| In a dirty old room, in a sweat-covered bed,
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| She’d lay and she’d fret and sniff from the packet.
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| Sniffs to remember I, me and myself,
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| Chops up the coke and drops more beads of sweat,
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| Home is a place, I don’t know where that is,
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| So the pain has been bottled, I’ll stay with my dreams.
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| Sniffs to remember I, me and myself,
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| Chops up the coke and drops more beads of sweat,
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| Home is a place, I don’t know where that is,
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| So the pain has been bottled, I’ll stay with my dreams.
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| The pain has been bottled, I’ll stay with my dreams. |