| Down in the gutter of my life story
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| I`m lying in a bed with a dream playing in my head
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| Spitting blood into a test tube
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| I used to be half a man I used to be useful
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| I walk with the demons and the devils
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| Shadowboxing the ghosts of my reflection in windows
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| All the pigeons and the statues
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| Are staring down at me
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| At the drunk and the disorderly
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| Paper bag bottles in the wardrobe
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| Stealing from the shops where I once bought my hope
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| All wrapped up in a plastic bag
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| Lying still while the human race step over the rags
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| I`ll name the names in my diatribe
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| Posthumously posted on my website
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| Milkmen and taxi drivers
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| Are last men on the street
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| And the drunk and the disorderly
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| Who am I, who are you
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| Who is the god that we how down to
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| Who are we, who are they
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| Who is the master, who is the slave
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| I stepped out of the present tense
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| I cut the umbilical chord of reality
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| I don`t know where this really is
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| Or where all this illusion really begins
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| I keep an old business card inside my shoes
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| An anonymous connection to the life I once used
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| Curtains moving in the council houses
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| On the grey estates
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| Of the drunk and the disorderly
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| Who am I, who are you
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| Who is the god that we bow down to
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| Who are we, who are they
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| Who is the master, who is the slave
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| I am powerless
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| There is a greater power
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| As I understand it
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| Within myself
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| I`m ready for changing
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| I`m ready to be changed
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| Hear my voice
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| Call and be called
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| I know where the bodies have been buried
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| I know things only the dead should know
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| All above me
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| All around me
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| Within and without
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| Are the drunk and the disorderly
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| The drunk and the disorderly |