| The night of a thousand verses
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| One thousand friends said
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| Have you heard, what we expected
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| We are all working late and
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| Waiting to win a prize we don’t deserve
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| And live to collect it
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| Can’t you see I’m weary
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| Maybe this news can wait
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| The night of a thousand verses
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| One thousand striver’s strain to hear
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| A voice that’s left us
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| And the magazines still have to sell us
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| Twelve master geniuses a year
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| It’s all so shameless
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| Can’t you see I’m weary
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| Maybe this news can wait
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| Can’t you see I’m blurry
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| Maybe this blues can wait
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| Maybe there was a message in it
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| I don’t know where you hid it
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| Maybe there was a piece that will fit
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| I don’t know how to fit it
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| Tell me what kind of prize can you get
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| Where you don’t want to win it?
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| Maybe there was a message in it
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| I don’t know where you hid it
|
| Maybe there was a piece that will fit
|
| I don’t know how to fit it
|
| Tell me what kind of prize can you get
|
| Where you don’t want to win it?
|
| Can’t you see I’m weary
|
| Maybe this news can wait
|
| Can’t you see I’m blurry
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| Maybe this blues can wait |