| Well its headlights, and white lights, and Black Tar Rivers
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| They’re dragging me around this country as it withers
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| The billboards, signposts, standing in the way
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| Tell of the state of the nations, that we find today
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| And we play and we play and we play
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| To every day, every day
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| To every day
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| And in the front rooms of old towns far from the city
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| With beaten up guitars and hearts full of pity
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| The people gather round singing songs from everywhere
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| They’re torn from the nation, left without a care
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| And we’ll rid the bloody world for a moment in a word
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| And we’ll rid the bloody world cos
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| The words that you heard when you were young will always stay
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| The one’s that always stay make the world go away
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| Warm night, clear sky, European town
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| Outside the bars singing their hearts out to a crowd
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| With open boots, violin, banjo and a voice
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| The exiled buskers are happy with their choice |