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Shouldering the blame |
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Walking into frame |
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Like a lighted silhouette, against a cotton sheet |
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You smile in the crease. |
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Tin can in hand, waiting for God to come around |
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But he never comes comes around, he never comes around. |
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Quite like a mouse, building up your house |
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Just pretend the town, leaving us the pieces... |
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Do they ever fit? |
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Tin can in hand, waiting for God to come around |
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But he never comes around, he never comes around. |
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Tin can in hand, waiting for God to come around, |
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But he never comes around, he never comes around. |