| Hide your background, hide your fame
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| Hide your given middle name
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| Swallow your pride, swallow your pills
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| In your house up in the hills
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| Leave your husband, leave your wife
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| Keep on runnin' your whole life
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| Sweep your dirt under the rug
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| Fix your hurt with a little love
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| From the cradle to the grave
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| You will always be a slave
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| To the quiet darkness of your memories
|
| And that’s the truth my friend
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| The ugly truth my friend
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| I’ve got proof my friend
|
| And that’s the truth
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| Keep your secrets to yourself
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| Keep your paperbacks up on the shelf
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| Burn your bridges, burn your friends
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| Blow them kisses and make amends
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| Take the high road or take the low
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| No one but you and God will ever know
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| And you play rough and win or lose
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| Either way, you’ll get the blues
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| From the cradle to the grave
|
| You will always be a slave
|
| To the quiet darkness of your memories
|
| And that’s the truth my friend
|
| The ugly truth my friend
|
| I’ve got proof my friend
|
| And that’s the truth
|
| I’ve got proof, my friend
|
| And that’s the truth |