| Señor, señor
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| Can you tell me where we’re headin'
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| Lincoln County Road or Armageddon
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| Seems like I been down this way before
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| Is there any truth in that, señor
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| Señor, señor
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| Do you know where she’s hidin'
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| How long are we gonna be riding
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| How long must I keep my eyes glued to the door
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| Will there be any comfort there, señor
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| There’s a wicked wind still blowing on that upper deck
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| And there’s an iron cross still hanging from around her neck
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| There’s a marching band still playing in that vacant lot
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| Where’s she held me in her arms one time and said
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| «Forget me not»
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| Señor, señor
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| I can see that painted wagon
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| Smell the tail of the dragon
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| I can’t stand the suspense here anymore
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| Can you tell me who to contact here, señor
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| Well, the last thing I remember before I stripped and kneeled
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| Was that trainload of fools bogged down in a magnetic field
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| And a gypsy with a broken flag and flashing ring
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| Said «Son, this ain’t a dream no more, it’s the real thing»
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| Señor, señor
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| You know their hearts are hard as leather
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| Give me a minute, let me get it together
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| I just gotta pick myself up off the floor
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| I’m ready when you are, señor
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| Señor, señor
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| Let’s overturn these tables
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| And disconnect these cables
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| This place don’t make sense to me no more
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| Can you tell me what we’re waiting for, señor |