| S. colvin — j. |
| leventhal
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| Well we pounded the pavement between
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| Dotted lines
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| But we always belonged to the
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| Fugitive kind
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| We were never the best but we were
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| Better than this
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| To be made to bow down among princes
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| I got thrown around hallways and
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| Bedrooms and towns
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| And you run from that voice and
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| It drags you around
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| It dont matter the ruse or the
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| Weapons we choose
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| There is only one thing that can free us Oh so here I am The lion and the lamb
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| I was born to be telling this story
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| I could only be telling this story
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| I will always be telling this story
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| Well our father married our
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| Mother too young
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| And he took on a world like a Fortunate son
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| But in the cellar downstairs waiting
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| For the bomb scare
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| He would hide from us under the kitchen
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| Where she simmered so soft with
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| Her weapons of tin
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| And like so many suppers she just
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| Gave us to him
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| And he never did guess in her cast
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| Iron dress
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| She was burning beyond recognition
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| Oh its not over yet
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| I cant forget
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| I am going to be telling this story
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| I was born to be telling this story
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| I will always be telling this story
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| Sometimes I feel so reckless and wild
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| Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
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| I gave nobody life, I am nobodys wife
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| And I seem to be nobodys daughter
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| So red is the color that I like the best
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| Its your indian skin and the badge
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| On my chest
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| The heat of my pride
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| The lips of a bride
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| The sad heart of the truth
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| And the flag of youth
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| And blood that is thicker than water
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| I was made to be telling this story
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| I was born to be telling this story
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| I am going to be telling this story
|
| I could only be telling this story
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| I will always be telling this story |