Standin' on the side of the road with a long shadow and suitcases,
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going nowhere, and I don't care, I'm a grown man.
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Hold my own hand, kickin' my own ass for cryin',
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I'm dyin' on the inside, they don't know who I am.
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Filthy, fraught, and haunted by a guilty conscience,
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runnin' away, and all because of silly nonsense.
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Gone since - God knows when,
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and I aint comin' back knowin' that, no one gives a rat's ass anyway.
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I just wanna find a place where I can sit in a rocking chair,
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no matter how far, even if it means walking there.
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Maybe I'll get me a dog for some company,
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it's better than tryin' to figure out somebody.
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Give me a good book, a radio, and a sewing machine,
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a place in the woods by the ocean and no inbetween.
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I gotta get rid of these dark circles and headaches,
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Maybe if I meditate, rather than medicate.
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I can no longer hesitate, I get so frantic,
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but what if my wishes are overly romantic.
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Though, the suns too low in the sky for second guesses I reken
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and I'm used to taking chances.
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Breakin' a few branches, and gettin' lucky now and then,
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findin' some trouble, was just a matter of how and when.
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And now I take notes, and make boats from Burch bark
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but stress still shows in my face like a birthmark.
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As soon as I get where I'm going I'm going to wash my hands thoroughly
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and start getting out of bed earlier.
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it's curious the way I've tried vicariously,
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to fly so low to the ground and so carelessly.
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How embarassing, I can't wait to call it quits,
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knowing that more and more tiring is all it gets.
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I've applied various and unique strategies,
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Read a few Greek tragedies and fasted for two weeks.
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Been rollin' around
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in the hole in the ground
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no surprise both my eyes
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are swollen shut, I'm stranded with no supplies.
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I need a lift...
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What have I done?
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Rat's Ass/Customs
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Buck 65 |