| Talkin' to myself again
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| An' wonderin' if this travellin' is good
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| Is there somethin' else a' doin'
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| We’d be doin' if we could
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| And ah, the stories we can tell
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| And if it all blows up and goes to Hell
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| I can still see us sitting on a bed in some motel
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| Listening to the stories we can tell
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| Remember that guitar in a museum in Tennessee
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| The nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
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| An' the scratches on the face told of all the times he’d fell
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| Singin' every story he could tell
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| And ah, the stories he could tell
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| And I’ll bet you it still rings like a bell
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| And I wish that we could sit back on a bed in some motel
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| And listen to the stories it could tell
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| So if you’re on the road a-trackin' down your every night
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| And singin' for a livin' ‘neath the brightly coloured lights
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| And if you ever wonder why you ride this carousel
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| Eh you did it for the stories you could tell
|
| And ah, the stories we can tell
|
| And I wouldn’t kid a man I like so well
|
| And I wish that we could sit back on a bed in some motel
|
| An' listen to the stories we can tell
|
| And ah, the stories we can tell
|
| And if it all blows up and goes to Hell
|
| I can still see us sitting on a bed in some motel
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| Just listenin' to the stories we can tell |