| If my friends could see me now, driving round just like a film star
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| In a chauffeur driven jam jar, they would laugh
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| They would all be saying that it’s not really me
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| They would all be asking who I’m trying to be
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| If my friends could see me now
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| Looking out my hotel window
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| Dressed in satin strides and two-tone daisy roots
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| If my friends could see me now I know they would smile
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| Sitting in my hotel, hiding from the dramas of this great big world
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| Seven stories high, looking at the world go by-y
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| Sitting in my hotel room, thinking about the countryside and sunny days in June
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| Trying to hide the gloom, sitting in my hotel room
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| If my friends could see me now, dressing up in my bow-tie
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| Prancing round the room like some outrageous poove
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| They would tell me that I’m just being used
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| They would ask me what I’m trying to prove
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| They would see me in my hotel
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| Watching late shows till the morning
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| Writing songs for old time vaudeville revues
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| All my friends would ask me what it’s all leading to
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| Sitting in my hotel, looking through the window at the people in the street
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| Seven stories high looking at the world go by
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| Sitting in my hotel, looking at the world outside
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| If my friends could see me now they would try to understand me
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| They would ask me what on earth I’m trying to prove
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| All my friends would ask me what it’s all leading to |