| Staring out at the old man,
|
| Watching the trains go by,
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| Well he lives his life on promises,
|
| But I’m afraid the promise is all he’s got,
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| You know life’s too short to never take,
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| But if you stand aside it’ll pass you by,
|
| Chorus
|
| He’s from some place they call America,
|
| But he’s nothing more than a dead man walking around,
|
| He’s from some pace they call America,
|
| Yeah America,
|
| Ever since he was a boy,
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| He had dreams,
|
| Dreams the size of God and he was,
|
| Making plans,
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| Building buildings,
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| He was gonna have the world in his pocket,
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| The Brooklyn bridge in his hands,
|
| he looks outside his window,
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| And see’s his past,
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| Comin' down,
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| On him,
|
| For the rest of his life he will us kicking him down,
|
| Too old to start again my friend,
|
| Chorus
|
| He’s from some place they call America,
|
| But he’s nothing more than a dead man walking around,
|
| He’s from some pace they call America,
|
| Yeah America, |