| Downtown north past the airport
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| A dream in switchgrass and concrete
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| Three gray floors of smoky windows
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| Facing the street
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| Michael pulls the blinds back up
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| Stares blankly at the intersection
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| Watching for the guy who’s got the angel dust
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| Crystal clear connection
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| Days like dominos
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| All in a line
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| We cheer for the home team every time
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| Lakeside View, Lakeside View
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| Lakeside View for my whole crew
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| Most nights now sleep in the kitchen
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| Keep my face cool on the floor
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| And John, John comes by to drop off his envelopes
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| Still playing postman after all these years
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| Pull down my army surplus jacket
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| Dig through some drawers to find the keys
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| Emerge transformed in a million years
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| From days like these
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| Under each eye little greasepaint smudge
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| You can’t judge us — you’re not the judge
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| Lakeside View, Lakeside View
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| Lakeside View for my whole crew
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| And just before I leave
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| I throw up in the sink
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| One whole life recorded
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| In disappearing ink
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| And Ray left a message thumbtacked to the door
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| I don’t even bother trying to read them anymore
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| Lakeside View Lakeside View,
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| Lakeside View for my whole crew |