| Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah.
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| The gypsy flies from coast to coast,
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| Knowing many, loving none,
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| Bearing sorrow, having fun.
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| But, back home he’ll always run,
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| To sweet Melissa.
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| Mmmm-hmmm.
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| Freight train, each car looks the same, all the same.
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| And no one knows the gypsy’s name,
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| And no one hears his lonely sighs,
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| There are no blankets where he lies.
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| Lord, in his deepest dreams the gypsy flies,
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| With sweet Melissa.
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| Mmmm-hmmm.
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| Again, the mornin’s come.
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| Again, he’s on the run.
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| A sunbeam’s shinin through his hair.
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| Fear not to have a care.
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| Well, pick up your gear and gypsy roll on.
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| Roll on.
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| Crossroads, will you ever let him go? |
| Lord, Lord.
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| Or will you hide the dead man’s ghost?
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| Or will he lie, beneath the clay?
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| Or will his spirit float away?
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| But, I know that he won’t stay,
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| Without Melissa.
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| Yes, I know that he won’t stay, yeah,
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| Without Melissa.
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| Lord, Lord, it’s all the same.
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| Mmmmm-hmmmmm. |