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Nelson Algren came to |
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Paddy at some party at the dead end alley |
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Yeah, he told him what to celebrate |
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And I met |
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William Butler |
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Yeats, Sunday night dance party, summer 1988 |
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At first I thought it might be |
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William Blake |
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We mix our own mythologies, we push them out through |
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PA systems |
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We dictate our doxologies and try to get sleeping kids to sit up and listen |
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And I'm not saying we could save you, but we could put you in a place where you could save yourself |
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If you don't get born again at least you'll get high as hell |
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Yeah, and sweet |
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St. Paul, that must be the hardest luck saint of them all |
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We met him at some suburban |
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St. Paul mall |
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But when St. |
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Theresa came to |
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Holly, I wasn't even at that party |
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I'd already moved out to |
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New York City |
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When Judas went up and kissed him |
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I almost got sick |
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I guess I knew what was coming |
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I guess I knew it was coming |
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We gather our gospels from gossip and bar talk then we declare them the truth |
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We salvage our sermons from message boards and scene reports and we sic them on the youth |
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We try out new testaments on the guys sitting next to us in the bars with the bars on the windows, alright |
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Even if you don't get converted tonight, you gotta admit the band's pretty tight |
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They did "She's Got Legs" into "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" |
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Into something by the |
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Dixie Dregs |
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And they faked their way through "Fairytale of New York" |
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When the band finished playing we howled out for more |
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Hey Nelson |
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Algren, Chicago seemed tired last night |
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They had cigarettes where there were supposed to be eyes |
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Hey William |
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Butler Yeats, all the |
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Irish seemed wired last night |
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They tried to separate our girls from our guys |
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They had cigarettes where there were supposed to be eyes |