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Sun on the hillsides, |
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the river tells the trains to ride on, |
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like they're racing that going sun. |
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The main drag knocks along, |
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summer dames take their dresses for a walk |
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down on the courthouse lawn; |
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and I walk the long mile of the exile, |
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I guess I always will. |
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Now the sun slides on the westside |
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down behind the hills. |
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It's been a lonesome song of a day. |
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I'd just as soon dodge the moon |
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as I'd try and dodge the thought of you, |
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everyday's a song and you're the proof. |
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It wasn't so long ago |
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when you put me out of doors |
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with nothing but a suitcase full of poems. |
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You said I was sunlight at midnight... |
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a poet with the sea on my lips. |
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You said my life rhymes with the lonesome lines |
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that drip from my fingertips. |
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It's been a lonesome song of a day. |
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There's a book I been meaning to write, |
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about how my words are the proof that I'm alive, |
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but it would take me ten lifetimes. |
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So until I lay down for good, |
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I'm gonna live each day the way I should, |
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like it's the best song I've ever heard. |
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You said I was sunlight at midnight... |
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a poet with the sea on my lips. |
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And now the sun slides on the westside |
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down behind the hills. |
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And it's a lonesome song of a day. |