| I’m long gone, honey babe, far away from my home
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| Went out to find myself, just found myself alone
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| Late night trains since don’t run the way they’re supposed to
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| It’s been months since I’ve been near anyone I was close to
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| At the end of the line, wildflowers grow on the track
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| I’d return to the cities of my youth if I knew the youth’d come back
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| I was holed up in my hotel, I got a telephone call
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| Girl down in the lobby, girl I didn’t know at all
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| Her last night in the city and her friends left her behind
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| She had some thoughts and a bottle of wine
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| Could she come up and talk a while
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| But Lord I know what talking leads to
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| At the end of the line, I had only one thought
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| Whenever something’s free, usually then you’re not
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| F-train to Coney Island, corridor to my room
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| Yellow wine in summer, the subway’s sweet perfume
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| Its in the air around my clothes, it’s in the bookstores you lived above
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| Sometimes a city is one too many, and a thousand ain’t enough
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| At the end of the line I’m reading to myself
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| Of all the spring afternoons in bare, could it have been anybody else |