| I was always working steady
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| But I never called it art
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| I got my shit together
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| Meeting Christ and reading Marx
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| It failed my little fire
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| But it's bright the dying spark
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| Go tell the young messiah
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| What happens to the heart
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| There's a mist of summer kisses
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| Where I tried to double-park
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| The rivalry was vicious
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| The women were in charge
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| It was nothing, it was business
|
| But it left an ugly mark
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| I've come here to revisit
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| What happens to the heart
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| I was selling holy trinkets
|
| I was dressing kind of sharp
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| Had a pussy in the kitchen
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| And a panther in the yard
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| In the prison of the gifted
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| I was friendly with the guards
|
| So I never had to witness
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| What happens to the heart
|
| I should have seen it coming
|
| After all I knew the chart
|
| Just to look at her was trouble
|
| It was trouble from the start
|
| Sure we played a stunning couple
|
| But I never liked the part
|
| It ain't pretty, it ain't subtle
|
| What happens to the heart
|
| Now the angel's got a fiddle
|
| The devil's got a harp
|
| Every soul is like a minnow
|
| Every mind is like a shark
|
| I've broken every window
|
| But the house, the house is dark
|
| I care but very little
|
| What happens to the heart
|
| Then I studied with this beggar
|
| He was filthy, he was scarred
|
| By the claws of many women
|
| He had failed to disregard
|
| No fable here no lesson
|
| No singing meadowlark
|
| Just a filthy beggar guessing
|
| What happens to the heart
|
| I was always working steady
|
| But I never called it art
|
| It was just some old convention
|
| Like the horse before the cart
|
| I had no trouble betting
|
| On the flood, against the ark
|
| You see, I knew about the ending
|
| What happens to the heart
|
| I was handy with a rifle
|
| My father's .303
|
| I fought for something final
|
| Not the right to disagree |