| Blue breeze, Sunday morning
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| Walk out the door to the local market
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| Red and green apples
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| Are catching my eyes
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| Along with people laughing
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| I smile and hello, normal reactions
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| But I’m thinking to myself
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| Where can I run?
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| Where can I hide?
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| And disappear for just a little time
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| Maybe a year, or maybe five
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| And in this matchbook, leave parts of my mind
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| Going back down to the dim edge of town
|
| After all this time, maybe just keep going
|
| Going back down to the dim edge of town
|
| After all this time, maybe just keep going
|
| Just keep going
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| Just keep going
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| So I put on some records, 5 Jacksons
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| On my computer, okay, magic
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| My heart was built to spill out all these notes
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| And I open my books and consume
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| Dickinson, Bukowski, Hall and Sandberg in them
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| «Still Life» is still my favorite poem
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| I’m going back down to the dim edge of town
|
| After all this time, maybe just keep going
|
| Going back down past the haunts and the crowds
|
| After all this time, maybe just keep going
|
| Just keep going
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| Just keep going
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| Going back down to the dim edge of town
|
| After all this time, maybe just keep going
|
| Going back down past the haunts and the crowds
|
| After all this time, maybe just keep going
|
| (Going back down)
|
| Going back down to the dim edge of town
|
| After all this time, maybe just keep going
|
| (Going back down)
|
| Going back down past the bars and the sounds
|
| (Going back down)
|
| After all this time, maybe just keep going
|
| Just keep going
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| Just keep going
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| (Where do we go from here?)
|
| Just keep going
|
| Just keep going |