He´s got a broken voice and a twisted smile,
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Guess he´s been that way for quite awhile,
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Got blood on his shoes and mud on his brim,
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Did he do it to himself or was it done to him?
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People think he don´t look well,
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But all he needs from what I can tell,
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Is someone to help wash away all the paint,
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From his purple hands before it gets too late.
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I saw him stand alone ... under a broke street light,
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So sincere ... singing silent night,
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But the trees were full ... and the grass was green,
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It was the sweetest thing I had ever seen.
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He may move slow,
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But that don´t mean he´s going nowhere,
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He may be moving slow,
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But that don´t mean he´s going nowhere.
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-----------------
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Broken
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Norah jones(³ë¶óÁ¸½º) |