| Last night the dealer offered me a new hand
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| Laid out so simply, thought I’d understand
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| With a different name, different face, different town, different place
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| In the same little world
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| When there’s nothing left to salvage
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| When losing it all doesn’t mean a thing
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| I pray for the never ending rain to wash it all away
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| To wash it all away
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| I set out on foot straight down the grade
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| Laying crumbs and seeds to mark the paths I’d laid
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| I found the northern lights, western shore, eastern front southern cross
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| And soon I was home
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| When there’s nothing left to salvage
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| When losing it all doesn’t mean a thing
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| I pray for the never ending rain to wash it all away
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| To wash it all away
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| Every day I read the paper and I pray for the flood
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| But the rain always stops at the first sign of mud
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| I want to feel it fall, feel it burn, watch it twist and feel it turn
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| Leaving nothing behind
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| When there’s nothing left to salvage
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| When losing it all doesn’t mean a thing
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| I pray for the never ending rain to wash it all away
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| To wash it all away
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| Nothing left to salvage
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| When losing it all doesn’t mean a thing
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| I pray for the never ending rain to wash it all away
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| To wash it all away, wash it all away |