| In the year of the famine
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| When starvation and black death raged across the land
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| There were many driven by their hunger
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| To set sail for the Americas
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| In search of a new life and a new hope
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| Oh but there were some who couldn’t cope
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| And they spent their life
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| In search of fool’s gold
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| The old prospector he makes it to the four lane highway
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| His old compadre lays dead in the sand
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| With outstretched hands he cries, «Are you going my way?»
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| The people passing by didn’t seem to understand
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| Broken Joe just lying in a gutter
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| He’s gone as low as any man can be
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| He calls for wine but they’ll only serve him water
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| The bartender says, «We don’t sell sympathy»
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| He tells a strange story about his father
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| How Sunday morning they’d go down to the church on the corner
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| As time grows older his thoughts they grow younger
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| It is his wish to search no longer
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| The vulture sits on top of the big top circus arena
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| He’s seen the show before, knows someone’s going to fall
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| Just near the part where the beautiful dancing tightrope ballerina
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| Forgets that the safety net isn’t there at all
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| Down he swoops with claws drawn to take her
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| Razor sharp so savagely is she mauled
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| Oh my god, is there no one who can save her?
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| In steps the fox to thunderous applause
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| Fool’s gold
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| You’d better believe it |