| Well I used to be a listener
|
| There was nothing left to get
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| About what you are
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| And what you haven’t been yet
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| Some of them like to tell a story that is long and old
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| And couch it in indifference and the wine
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| That they were sold
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| To get away, away, away, away, away…
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| Well someone’s got to tell them
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| That it’s not deserved
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| Rehearsed or written down
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| By playwrights over time
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| Just picking up on a nerve
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| And some of them got a difference
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| That they reserve for you
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| Well I like them all but I don’t trust any of them
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| Well shouldn’t you
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| Just get away
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| Just get away
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| Just get away
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| Just get away
|
| Well I used to think
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| My freedom was a lot of things I’d give
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| Demanding on my time
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| But I had so much time to give
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| And I used to think that everything
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| Was a knee in what you are
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| But finding out the truth that hurts
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| So I never went that far
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| No I’d always get away
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| Get away, away, away, away, away…
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| It comes down to the fact
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| That I’m now different from the past
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| Demanding all my ideals
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| Its just trying to make them last
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| And some of the things that you say
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| They’re ringing home so true
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| I hang my head out of the door
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| And I follow you
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| Yeah I follow you
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| And I get away
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| Get away, away, away, away, away…
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| Get away, away, away, away, away… |