| Here I sleep the morning through
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| 'Til the wail of the call to prayer awakes me And there ain’t nothing at all to do but rise and follow
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| The day wherever it takes me I stand at the window and I look at the sea
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| And I am what I am, and what will be will be I stand at the window and I look at the sea
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| And I make me a pot of opium tea
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| Down at the port I watch the boats come in Watch the boats come in can do something to you
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| And the kids gather around with an outstretched hand
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| And I toss them a diram or two
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| Well, I wonder if my children are thinking of me Cause I am what I am, and what will be will be I wonder if my kids are thinking of me And I smile and I sip my opium tea
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| At night the sea lashes the rust red ramparts
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| And the shapes of hooded men who pass me And the moan of the wind laughs and laughs and laughs
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| The strange luck that fate has cast me Well, the cats on the rampart sing merrily
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| That he is what he is and what will be will be Yeah, the cats on the rampart sing merrily
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| And I sit and I drink of my opium tea
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| I’m a prisoner here, I can never go home
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| There is nothing here to win or lose
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| There are no choices needed to be made at all
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| Not even the choice of having to choose
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| Well, I’m a prisoner here, yes, but I’m also free
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| Cause I am what I am and what will be will be
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| I’m a prisoner here, yeah, but I’m also free
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| And I smile and I sip my opium tea. |