| The balladeer waits in the wings
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| Tugging on her dress, tuning her strings
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| All her whiskey faded cigarette blown dreams
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| She brings herself to her own knees with every line so delicate
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| She sings every song that she knows
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| The way that she hears 'em, sad and slow
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| They’re never gonna play her on the radio
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| So she hangs in the darkest bars with downtrodden bleeding hearts
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| A guitar man there who knew all the chords
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| Said he needed her to help him find the words
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| The balladeer never loved anybody more
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| It was magic but she worried what if she ran out of the pain
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| She carried round with her, so proud
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| She wore it like a queen wears a crown
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| She didn’t know who she’d be if she put it down
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| So he brought her to the river where she could wash the trouble
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| From her heart and let it shine like gold
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| Felt like angels pouring mercy on her soul
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| And the weight of the world, she let it go
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| And she sang for the first time with her head held high and so much pride
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| It opened up new notes in her throat
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| There was joy in every new song she wrote
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| They got a bus and traveled coast to coast
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| Drinking with their friends and strangers and business people called to say
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| That she was finally headed for the stars
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| Or at least the top of the charts
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| They changed her clothes and bought fancy cars
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| Till the guitar man caught the eye of a pretty background singer with the blues
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| Oh, oh, oh
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| Oh, oh, oh, oh
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| The guitar man cried 'cause he done her wrong
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| The background singer took the next flight home
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| And the balladeer wrote herself a song
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| About brokenhearted dreamers who are searching for something they’ll never find
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| Mmm, mmm, mmm |