| My heart goes out to the street angels
|
| Working their way back home
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| My heart goes out to the street angels
|
| I saved my change for a street angel
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| Working his way back home
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| I had this exchange with the street angel:
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| «Nobody talks to me much
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| I said, nobody talks to me much
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| Nobody.»
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| So he says
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| «I make my verse for the universe
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| I write my rhymes for the universities
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| And I give it away for the hoot of it
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| I tell my tale for the toot of it
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| I wear my suit for the suit of it
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| The tree is bare, but the root of it
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| Goes deeper than logical reasoning
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| It’s God goes fishing
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| And we are the fishes
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| He baits his lines
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| With prayers and wishes
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| They sparkle in the shallows
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| And catch the falling light
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| We hide our hearts like holy hostages
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| While hungry for the love, and so we bite."
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| Working his way back home
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| He’s working his way back home
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| Took him away in the ambulance
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| Made away with the ambulance
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| He waved goodbye from the ambulance
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| My heart goes out to the street angel |