| I used to think I was independent cause I had got up and left for the South
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| But that’s where the grind caught up with me again
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| I found the town when I arrived, got seasonal work and then settled for a year
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| in a cheap first floor with a boyfriend
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| But he wasn’t the one
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| And seasons change the same wherever you are
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| So, you’re bumbling along not unhappily in your routine when he appears
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| And suddenly you’re wretched
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| You’ve let yourself down and there’s only one way out of this
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| And the car door’s wide open
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| You open your eyes and you’re in the passenger seat
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| The too familiar town scene in the rear view
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| And all you’ve got in is your work clothes and a big grin
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| You’ve left everything behind again
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| But you’ve left him plenty to remember you by
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| You’re both doing pick up work
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| Keeping one step ahead of the grind that spreads like an invading army through
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| everyone’s minds and keep them ticking over in the engine of the blind
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| Until one day, you’re looking at each other
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| And you can both see the symptoms of the disease in your routine affections
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| In your private language, in your new friends' assumptions
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| And you wake up one morning and you roll to the middle of the bed and your feet
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| are cold and there’s no note
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| The inevitable slaps your face but you don’t know if it’s saying «I told you so»
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| or if it’s saying that you’re a fool for expecting anything different
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| Now you’re stranded in a foreign country with no money and a few fair weather
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| friends and they’re telling you that constant drifting is a means to a low end
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| I know I’m in a jam and it’s not gonna be much fun
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| I’m settling like dust
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| My daydream’s packed his case and run
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| But I don’t have any regrets for all the people left behind
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| Because their disapproving faces show the great cancer of the grind |