| Sixty-six days on the Mayflower long before the beacon hand
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| Just lookin' for someplace where they could start over again
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| And then slowly moving westward, planting flags on stolen land
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| Sometimes I sit and wonder what the dream looked like back then
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| Oh, times they keep on changin'
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| Different roads and different oceans
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| She tells me for how far we’ve come life still seems so damn hard
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| Feeln' broke down on the golden road to unlimited devotion
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| Watching satellites and airplane lights weave through these western stars
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| Seems we hit the jackpot, baby, you and me
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| We were born in North America in the twentieth century
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| Send your tired your huddled masses
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| Send the homeless and the poor
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| With open arms she offers all this new world can afford
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| Now a few hundred years later we still search for something more
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| As we watch the fading lamplight that once lit the golden door
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| And as I walk these city streets, I feel a stranger in my town
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| I don’t mind so much the people as the landmarks coming down
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| Yet still we sleep in comfort with our shelter, bread and wine
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| Knowing that we’re better off than any other place or time
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| Still, we hit the jackpot, baby, you and me
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| We were born in North America in the twentieth century
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| We hit the jackpot, baby, you and me
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| We were born in North America
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| We were born in North America
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| We were born in North America in the twentieth century |