Lonely as these days are lone,
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As dark as the night bursts on,
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Strange way of living has been my heart dry.
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I¡¯m a lonesome, but too stoned to cry.
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My clothes, they¡¯re ragged and warm,
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The sailor¡¯s calling the worst kind of storm.
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The water keeps rising, but I¡¯m getting by.
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I keep walking, I¡¯m too stoned to fly.
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¡®cause whisky and wine compels for the pain,
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Fast easy women and little cocaine.
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I¡¯m walking in line between hell been and high,
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I ain¡¯t happy, just too stoned to cry.
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Now I¡¯m living from town to town,
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I¡¯ve always been lost, I ain¡¯t never been found.
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They say Jesus can save me, but that was a lie.
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I keep trying, I¡¯m too stoned to die.
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I keep trying, I¡¯m too stoned to die.
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¡®cause whisky and wine compels for the pain,
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Fast easy women and little cocaine.
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I¡¯m walking in line between hell been and high,
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I ain¡¯t happy, just too stoned to cry,
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No, I ain¡¯t happy, just too stoned to cry.
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Too Stoned To Cry
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Andrew Combs |