| If I had some poet’s wings
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| I would fly to New Orleans
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| I’d rhyme my trials and my misdeeds
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| So if you cut the words they would bleed
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| And in the night when I’m all alone
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| And the sadness goes to the bone
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| I’d make the words in the refrain
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| As lethal as the knives of Spain
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| If I had some black cat’s bones
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| I’d take the things down to Antone’s
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| Then I’d steal what I really need
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| I’d take it home and I’d Let It Bleed
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| And in the night when I’m by myself
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| I’d take what it was down from the shelf
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| When I find the words in the refrain
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| As lethal as the knives of Spain
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| If I had some grains of faith
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| Well I’d keep 'em where they were safe
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| Then I would not disbelieve
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| Be corrupted or deceived
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| And in the night when no one’s around
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| I would kneel down upon the ground
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| When I find the words in the refrain
|
| As lethal as the knives of Spain
|
| And in the night when no one’s around
|
| I would kneel down upon the ground
|
| When I find the words in the refrain
|
| As lethal as the knives of Spain |