| He’s a hollow man, in a dead land
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| He’s a fool with men for change
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| He’s a hot shot, in his high rise
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| A glass of wine and a lady by his side
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| The city is drunk on the money he’s burnt
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| Yet he still prays these whispered words
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| Of 'Things are good cause I’m not dead yet'
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| Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
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| Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
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| He’s a warrior, and a fighter
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| He’s a fool with a twisted smile
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| In his blood stream, runs the story
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| Of a maestro cut loose in the hands of misuse
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| The city is drunk on the money he’s burnt
|
| Yet he still prays these whispered words
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| Of 'Things are good cause I’m not dead yet'
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| Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
|
| Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
|
| Look at you Maestro
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| All alone and growing old
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| Look at your poor soul
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| All alone in your city of gold
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| All our finery, left in pieces on the floor
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| What a sight to see he waved away my words
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| All our finery, left in pieces on the floor
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| What a sight to see, what a sight to see
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| All our finery, left in pieces on the floor
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| What a sight to see he waved away my words
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| In search of something more
|
| What a sight to see
|
| He waved away my words
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| In search of something more
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| Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
|
| Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
|
| Look at you Maestro
|
| All alone and growing old
|
| Look at your poor soul
|
| All alone in your city of gold
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| Look at you Maestro
|
| Look at your poor soul |