| Eleanor Rigby picks up her rice in a church
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| Where a wedding has been, lives in a dream
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| Sits by her window, wearing a paste
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| That she keeps in a jar by the door, who is it for?
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| All those lonely people
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| Where do they all come from?
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| All those lonely people
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| Where do they all belong?
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| Father McKenzie writing the words to a sermon
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| That no one will hear, no one comes near
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| Look at him working, darning his socks in the night
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| When there’s nobody there, what does he care?
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| All those lonely people
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| Where do they all come from?
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| All those lonely people
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| Where do they all belong?
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| Oh, look at all those lonely people
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| Oh, look at all those lonely people
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| Eleanor Rigby died in the church
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| And was buried along with her name, nobody came
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| Father McKenzie wiping his hands of the dirt
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| As he stands by the grave, no one was saved
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| Oh, all those lonely people
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| Where do they all come from?
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| All those lonely people
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| Where do they all belong?
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| Where do they all belong?
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| Where do they all belong? |