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Four o'clock in the afternoon |
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and I didn't feel like very much. |
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I said to myself, "Where are you golden boy, |
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where is your famous golden touch?" |
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I thought you knew where |
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all of the elephants lie down, |
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I thought you were the crown prince |
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of all the wheels in Ivory Town. |
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Just take a look at your body now, |
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there's nothing much to save |
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and a bitter voice in the mirror cries, |
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"Hey, Prince, you need a shave." |
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Now if you can manage to get |
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your trembling fingers to behave, |
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why don't you try unwrapping |
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a stainless steel razor blade? |
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That's right, it's come to this, |
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yes it's come to this, |
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and wasn't it a long way down, |
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wasn't it a strange way down? |
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There's no hot water |
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and the cold is running thin. |
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Well, what do you expect from |
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the kind of places you've been living in? |
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Don't drink from that cup, |
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it's all caked and cracked along the rim. |
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That's not the electric light, my friend, |
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that is your vision growing dim. |
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Cover up your face with soap, there, |
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now you're Santa Claus. |
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And you've got a gift for anyone |
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who will give you his applause. |
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I thought you were a racing man, |
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ah, but you couldn't take the pace. |
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That's a funeral in the mirror |
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and it's stopping at your face. |
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That's right, it's come to this, |
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yes it's come to this, |
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and wasn't it a long way down, |
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ah wasn't it a strange way down? |
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|
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Once there was a path |
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and a girl with chestnut hair, |
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and you passed the summers |
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picking all of the berries that grew there; |
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there were times she was a woman, |
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oh, there were times she was just a child, |
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and you held her in the shadows |
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where the raspberries grow wild. |
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And you climbed the twilight mountains |
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and you sang about the view, |
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and everywhere that you wandered |
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love seemed to go along with you. |
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That's a hard one to remember, |
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yes it makes you clench your fist. |
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And then the veins stand out like highways, |
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all along your wrist. |
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And yes it's come to this, |
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it's come to this, |
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and wasn't it a long way down, |
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wasn't it a strange way down? |
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|
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You can still find a job, |
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go out and talk to a friend. |
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On the back of every magazine |
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there are those coupons you can send. |
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Why don't you join the Rosicrucians, |
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they will give you back your hope, |
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you can find your love with diagrams |
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on a plain brown envelope. |
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But you've used up all your coupons |
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except the one that seems |
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to be written on your wrist |
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along with several thousand dreams. |
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Now Santa Claus comes forward, |
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that's a razor in his mit; |
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and he puts on his dark glasses |
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and he shows you where to hit; |
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and then the cameras pan, |
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the stand in stunt man, |
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dress rehearsal rag, |
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it's just the dress rehearsal rag, |
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you know this dress rehearsal rag, |
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it's just a dress rehearsal rag. |