| Heaven sent the promised land
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| Looks alright from where I stand
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| 'Cause I’m the man on the outside looking in
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| Waiting on the first step
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| Show where the key is kept
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| Point me down the right line because it’s time
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| To let me in from the cold
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| Turn my lead into gold
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| 'Cause there’s chill wind blowing in my soul
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| And I think I’m growing old
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| Flash the readies… wot’s… uh, deal?
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| Got to make it to the next meal
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| Try to keep up with the turning of the wheel
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| Mile after mile, stone after stone
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| You turn to speak, but you’re alone
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| Million miles from home, you’re on your own
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| So let me in from the cold
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| Turn my lead into gold
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| 'Cause there’s chill wind blowing in my soul
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| And I think I’m growing old
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| Fire bright by candlelight
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| And her by my side;
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| And if she prefers, we will never stir again
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| Someone sent the promised land
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| And I grabbed it with both hands
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| Now I’m the man on the inside looking out
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| Hear me shout, «Come on in!
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| What’s the news? |
| Where ya been?»
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| 'Cause there’s no wind left in my soul
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| And I’ve grown old |