| It would be nice to hear from you
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| You must be better than
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| When you used to call me for advice
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| All drunk and sad at 4 AM We both had lost our girlfriends
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| But our sense of humor never
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| In the summer we saved each other’s lives
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| By hanging out together
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| I’ve been high, but mostly low
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| A lifelong lodger on a dead end road
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| But I like mine to shine like gold
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| The darkest hour turns brighter than a rose
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| Than a rose…
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| The memories I still lean on In the current haze I’m in When we were so down, we’d toast the town
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| Like two black-hearted Irishmen
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| I don’t settle things with booze
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| Like I did for years
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| The guys that I still care about
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| In the stories that I hear
|
| I’ve been high, but mostly low
|
| A lifelong lodger on a dead end road
|
| But I like mine to shine like gold
|
| The darkest hour turns brighter than a rose
|
| We didn’t get much further
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| Than a shoebox for a home
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| And our mattresses are gray with years
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| Of passing out in our street clothes
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| Now the hard times are behind us So let’s not be alone
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| And the bottom line, and this is mine
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| Dammit, we both got a phone
|
| I’ve been high, but mostly low
|
| A lifelong lodger on a dead end road
|
| But I like mine to shine like gold
|
| The darkest hour turns brighter than a rose
|
| Than a rose… |