| Well, I know a guy, he’s from far far away
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| He’s a songwriter, he got something to say
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| He says, «People in this city are too busy to hang out
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| This town’s so spread out, no one would hear you if you shout»
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| Everyone’s got a script to sell and someplace else they want to be There’s always a lock that would open if you could just find the key
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| But I know the patron saint of desperate causes
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| Doesn’t ring his fingers with diamonds and ruby roses
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| Some say there’s no solution to all this disillusion
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| What am I to say to you who simply doesn’t care?
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| There’s a lonely girl riding the bus in the middle of the night
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| She calls herself up to hear a friendly voice
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| And she says, «Hi, this is Casandra, leave your name and your number
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| And I’ll call you back if I have the time or if I remember»
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| Patty cake, patty cake, barkeep man
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| Pour me a beer as fast as you can
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| What to do with all this sadness that I see
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| Lord knows it ain’t easy being green
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| Some say there’s no solution to all this disillusion
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| What am I to say to you who simply doesn’t care? |
| Oh yeah |
| Oh some say, there’s no solution to all this disillusion
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| What am I to say to you who simply doesn’t care? |
| Oh yeah
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| Some say there’s no solution to all this disillusion
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| What am I to say to you who simply doesn’t care?
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| Who simply doesn’t care, oh yeah, yeah |