| It’s another night in Los Angeles
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| My passport is restless in my boot
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| And my thoughts take wings to wonder
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| «Get up» they say man «vamoose»
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| I think about my thoughts of Paris
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| Of fine wine, women and precious things
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| I think about my life on the midnight highway
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| The life of a renegade king
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| Twenty years they’ve called me a bandit
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| Twenty years I’ve been on the run
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| Twenty years defending my honor
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| Twenty years harming no one
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| And I ride
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| I ride alone, yes I ride, I ride alone
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| They say there goes a strange one
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| He sits back to the wall
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| Noticing conversation
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| Rarely speaking at all
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| And he rides, he rides alone
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| Yes he rides, he rides alone
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| It’s true I’m not much on talking
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| It’s true there’s not much I know
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| But one thing I’ve learned for certain
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| You reap whatever you sow
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| And you ride, you ride alone
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| Yes you ride, you ride alone
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| There’s a hawk high in the heaven
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| A truly magnificent bird
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| He waits on wings of silver
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| To bring the glorious word
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| And he flies, he flies alone
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| Yes he flies, he flies alone |