| Well hello there sordid inmates
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| You’ve got fences round your necks
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| And you took all the hordes of adoring girls' applause for it
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| And to follow, Old Man Sorrow is gonna make you watch it all again
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| Up on high in a pogo zone
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| And there’s blistering heat from a moulten stone… oh, oh
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| Yeah and he wants to go, oh yeah he wants to go home
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| When the memory’s dead and the man lives on
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| And the greenest of grass is not enough to live on… oh, oh
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| And he only knows 'go the whole way or don’t go at all'
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| It’s the middle of winter and things are getting harder to look at
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| I scrape a hole in the ice and the snow and I look out
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| And I feel as well as could be dead
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| I light a cigarette
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| She walks to the door and she turns once more
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| and says, «It's your way — it’s not mine — don’t forget.»
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| And the snow falls on the traveller’s head
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| He puts his weary wings to flight
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| He staggers like Atlas asked to dance —
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| There are no truths in here tonight
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| And what a scene in the morning light
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| The bridge is burnt and he’s standing on the wrong side
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| And there’s no home
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| And there’s no home
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| And there’s no home
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| And there’s no way he can go home
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| And those that hold the lie of choice say
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| Maudlin’s all that’s in his voice
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| And ask a pound of flesh returned
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| And stab him when his back is turned
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| And they asked him what he came here for
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| He said there wasn’t a single bridge out there at all
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| It was raining when you came here
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| Take it with you when you leave
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| And you can take your rain and your melancholia with you
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| Save it for the next one
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| When you’re ready… I am |