| This is how he entered
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| How he came in
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| With an open heart and his eyes wide
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| A rubber in his pocket
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| Without socks, and a skip in his step
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| In an ill-fitting suit with something up his sleeve
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| A slither of a dream, a last gem
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| And the fear in his eyes of how dear it was held
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| This is how he entered
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| How he came in
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| Falling from the back of a transit van
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| Crumpled, desperate for relief from the humdrum
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| Each step a story, a song in the making
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| Each step cemented the living
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| The broken hearts left behind
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| They were just material to him
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| And how they would come to pursue him
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| How they would eventually come to drag him back in
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| This is how he entered
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| How he came in
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| With his hair cold he stood in the doorway
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| Like a lost dog holding his missing poster
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| Just to be sure — to be sure everyone knew just how lost he was
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| Telling his story he broke onions and sang songs
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| The street walkers carol
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| Soft tissue
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| The fear of emptiness
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| Planting holes to grow some money
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| These were his songs
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| And this was how he came in
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| This was how he entered
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| How he came in
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| With chips in his pocket
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| Just waiting for the chance to get into the game
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| With his hair combed and the checks on his shirt just right
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| He sang of it but knew nothing of it
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| The house of cards by an open window
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| Pack of Frazzles
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| An unsolvable puzzle
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| He knew nothing of what you needed from him
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| He knew nothing of giving
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| He only knew of his desires
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| He only knew of that woman
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| This is how he entered
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| This is how he came in
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| This is how he entered
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| How he came in |