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Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah. |
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The gypsy flies from coast to coast |
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Knowing many, loving none, |
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Bearing sorrow havin' fun, |
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But back home he'll always run |
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To sweet Melissa... mmm... |
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Freight train, each car looks the same, all the same. |
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And no one knows the Gypsy's name |
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No one hears his lonely sighs, |
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There are no blankets where he lies. |
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In all his deepest dreams the Gypsy flies |
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with sweet Melissa... mmm... |
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Again the morning's come, |
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Again he's on the run, |
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Sunbeams shining through his hair, |
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Appearing not to have a care. |
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Well, pick up your gear and Gypsy roll on, roll on. |
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Crossroads, will you ever let him go? (Lord, Lord) |
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Will you hide the dead man's ghost, |
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Or will he lie, beneath the clay, |
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or will his spirit float away? |
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But I know that he won't stay without Melissa. |
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Yes I know that he won't stay without Melissa. |