| I’m still looking out your window, your shady tones of home.
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| Where dusty memories echo down like rain.
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| And the years grow ever longer, the days go flying by,
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| but I can’t wait 'til you and I are finally home again.
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| Well there ain’t no easy answers when the circus is in town,
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| troubled juries hang each other dead.
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| And the TVs filled with poets, who only write in rhyme,
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| and my brother works for the CIA when he’s not doing time.
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| When comfort comforts no one, surrounded by your name,
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| there is no one that I can talk to now.
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| And this town is a painting, and I am but a dream,
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| So come live with me outside the lonely fields of midnight May
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| Well there ain’t no easy answers when the circus is in town,
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| troubled juries hang each other dead.
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| And the TVs filled with poets, who only write in rhyme,
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| and my brother works for the CIA when he’s not doing time.
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| And when the night-time tricks me to believing I’m the same,
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| as every barstool in this god damn place.
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| You come put your arms around me, slowly say my name.
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| So come live with me outside the lonely fields of midnight May
|
| Well there ain’t no easy answers when the circus is in town,
|
| troubled juries hang each other dead.
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| And the TVs filled with poets, who only write in rhyme,
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| and my brother works for the CIA when he’s not doing time. |