| He fills the room like champagne
|
| Into an empty glass
|
| As they slither to him like snakes
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| Through the grass
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| His stance is quiet with grace
|
| Before they throw him into the rat race
|
| And he turned to me to say
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| I’m a lonely boy
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| Even with the life I asked for
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| Lonely boy, why don’t you see
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| You’re exactly the same as me
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| You could be the most beautiful thing
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| That I ever did see
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| With your head pointing down
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| And your friends leaving town
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| He sung like an angel
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| That had cracked deep inside
|
| While I played my guitar
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| And cried and cried
|
| And the nails that we jam into our hearts
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| Are essential and needed for the part
|
| And he turned to me to say I’m a lot like you
|
| Does that mean, boy, I’ll be lonely too?
|
| Days are passing like November rain
|
| Constantly falling
|
| But nothing here remains
|
| And he turned to me to say, I’m a lot like you
|
| Does that mean, boy, I’ll be lonely too?
|
| You’re home getting high every day
|
| Don’t you think it’s strange? |