| he’s just wandering, got no place to go, no place to go
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| he’s just wandering, don’t nobody know nobody knows him
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| but he knows the world,
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| and his paintings show all of its charms
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| but he knows the world,
|
| and his paintings show all of its charms
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| and when he plays guitar he don’t need to be witty
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| he takes all his sadness makes it sound so pretty
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| people close their eyes when they listen
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| and suffer the modern world with him
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| he went to the doctor
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| who gave him perscriptions, gave him perscriptions
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| he lost all his friends,
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| but kept up his rhythm, kept his rhythm
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| he picked up the guitar
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| and tells it everything his tongue can’t say
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| picked up the guitar, tells it everything his tongue can’t say
|
| and when he plays guitar he don’t need to be witty
|
| he takes all his sadness makes it sound so pretty
|
| people close their eyes when they listen
|
| and suffer the modern world with him
|
| he sees the people walking by
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| with their skateboards and their eyes
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| and their clothes that say, 'we're not alone'
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| he sees the history in their face
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| history that they can’t erase
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| its to these lines that he relates
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| and thats how he never frets
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| about the things he’ll never get
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| all he needs to know is we’re not alone
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| and thats how he never frets
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| about the things he’ll never get
|
| all he needs to know is
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| we’re not alone here… |