| when travelling abroad in the continental style
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| it’s my belief one must attempt to be discreet
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| and subsequently bear in mind your transient position
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| allows you a perspective that’s unique
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| though you’ll find your itinerary’s a blessing and a curse
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| your wanderlust won’t let you settle down
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| and you’ll wonder how you ever fathomed that you’d be content
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| to stay within the city limits of a small midwestern town
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| most vagabonds i knowed don’t ever want to find the culprit
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| that remains the object of their long relentless quest
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| the obsession’s in the chasing and not the apprehending
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| the pursuit you see and never the arrest
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| without fear of contradiction bon voyage is always hollered
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| in conjunction with a handkerchief from shore
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| by a girl that drives a rambler and furthermore
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| is overly concerned that she won’t see him anymore
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| planes and trains and boats and buses
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| characteristically evoke a common attitude of blue
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| unless you have a suitcase and a ticket and a passport
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| and the cargo that they’re carrying is you
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| a foreign affair juxtaposed with a stateside
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| and domestically approved romantic fancy
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| is mysteriously attractive due to circumstances knowing
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| it will only be parlayed into a memory |