| Imagine, the girls around town assemble
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| The traveler’s son they come askin'
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| Where he came from
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| ‘Cause they’ve watched him
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| Washing his face near the pond
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| A curious boy and they wonder
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| Where he came from
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| He says: «I, I have seen the world’s most beautiful places
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| Still I feel, as If I’m a walking machine
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| Watching it all through a screen
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| There is nothing in between to me
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| This might as well not be real»
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| Imagine, the girls take him up on a hill
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| It’s an Indigo night, there’s a chill
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| The boy is confused but he’s still
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| As they gather around him
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| So many of them, they all sing
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| About the pleasures of life
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| And he cries: «Why can’t I sing along with some feeling, or some meaning?
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| It feels like I’ve always been blind
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| I don’t know why you girls are so kind
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| For there are so many in line
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| Whose lives aren’t as lost as mine»
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| Now something happened there
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| The smell of the grass, or maybe the air
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| There was no more despair
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| Just something about that night
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| Maybe the girls, they lit some light
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| And made everything right
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| ‘Cause he’s never been
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| More alive |