| Fell down from your haven
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| To an empire cityscape
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| Someone asked him for directions
|
| He would always know the way
|
| Offer you his raincoat
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| Let you hide under his hat
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| If you can’t walk from whiskey
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| He’ll just throw you on his back
|
| And then away you’ll go
|
| Through the crowd gathered below
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| To the spinning wheels
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| Of your mobile home
|
| And he’ll watch you sleep
|
| Like a guardian angel
|
| Stays inside the music
|
| Sometimes steps outside the law
|
| Always in the name of justice
|
| Still believes in the lost cause
|
| Distract you with a story
|
| Always tries to make you laugh
|
| He brings people together
|
| Like Gertrude Stein and Mama Cass
|
| And he says, «My friends are yours
|
| This town’s full of open doors
|
| To the sold-out shows
|
| Eighth bungalows
|
| And the lonesome smokes
|
| In this tiny studio."
|
| Always finds a muse
|
| Everywhere he goes
|
| Whether it’s the blues
|
| Or some abandoned showtune
|
| Learned how to be selfless
|
| How to love what wasn’t there
|
| But never dwell upon it
|
| Just embrace what’s everywhere
|
| People busking in the subway
|
| Mc’s freestyle in the park
|
| Heard a kid from martha’s vineyard
|
| Made him turn around his car
|
| And away he goes
|
| To the local radio
|
| Saying, «What's that sound?
|
| I’d like to know
|
| And this might sound strange
|
| But I just can’t let it go.»
|
| Guess every sinner needs a saint
|
| Guess every sinner needs a saint
|
| Guess every sinner needs a saint
|
| Says everybody is the same |