| Empty sound, deserted town
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| Beneath the silvery feathered down
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| Of morning’s waking breath
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| Forgotten tunes and silver spoons
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| Goes to deeply shadowed gloom
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| And dies a silent death
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| Junkered peers through plastic ears
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| Holds his bottle heaven near
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| And dimly strange to rise
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| Unreal, can’t feel
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| His dagger dangling band of steel
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| Through plastic coated eyes
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| Don’t turn away, there ain’t no need
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| It’s just 3 o’clock Flamingo Street
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| Big band show an hour ago
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| I saw the laughing doorman show the stairway to the crowd
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| Yellow girls
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| Hair uncurled
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| Swaying in a rhythmic world
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| To the music playing load
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| Close light, shines bright
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| Pierces through the yielding night
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| And hides the shadows deep
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| Feeling free should be
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| No time to turn the door to see
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| Where morning widows weep
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| Don’t turn away, there ain’t no need
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| It’s just 3 o’clock Flamingo Street
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| Pains begun bottle done
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| No place where a man can run
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| To shield his shaking brain
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| Head down round and round
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| Hold on harder to the ground
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| Untouched by the rain
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| Flesh cold, young or old
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| Who cares if the truth be told
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| Is only him to blame
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| Jack and Jill, had their fill
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| Begin to walk the day
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| Until it all begins again
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| Don’t turn around there ain’t no need
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| It’s just 3 o’clock Flamingo Street |