| Well today there’s no salvation, the band’s packed up and gone
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| Left me standin' with a penny in my hand
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| There’s a big crowd at the station where a blind man sings his songs
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| And he can see what I can’t understand
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| It’s the thirty-third of August and I’m finally touching down
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| Eight days from Sunday, Lord, I’m Saturday-bound
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| Once I stumble through the darkness, tumble to my knees
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| A thousand voices screaming through my brain
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| Woke up in the squad car, busted down for vagrancy
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| And outside my cell, sure as hell, it looked like rain
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| It’s the thirty-third of August and I’m finally touching down
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| Eight days from Sunday, Lord, I’m Saturday-bound
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| Now I put my angry feeling under lock and chain
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| I hide my violent nature with a smile
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| Though the demons dance and sing their songs within my fevered brain
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| Not all my God-like thoughts, Lord, are defiled |