| Early one morning the sun was shining
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| I was laying in bed
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| Wondering if she’d changed at all
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| If her hair was still red
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| Her folks they said our lives together
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| Sure was going to be rough
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| They never did like Mama’s homemade dress
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| Papa’s bankbook wasn’t big enough
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| And I was standing on the side of the road
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| Rain falling on my shoes
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| Heading out for the East Coast
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| Lord knows I’ve paid some dues
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| Getting through
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| Tangled up in blue
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| She was married when we first met
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| Soon to be divorced
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| I helped her out of a jam, I guess
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| But I used a little too much force
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| We drove that car as far as we could
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| Abandoned it out West
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| Split up on a dark sad night
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| Both agreeing it was best
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| She turned around to look at me
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| As I was walking away
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| I heard her say over my shoulder
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| «We'll meet again someday
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| On the avenue»
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| Tangled up in blue
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| I had a job in the great north woods
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| Working as a cook for a spell
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| But I never did like it all that much
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| And one day the ax just fell
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| So I drifted down to New Orleans
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| Where I lucky was to be employed
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| Working for a while on a fishing boat
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| Right outside of Delacroix
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| But all the while I was alone
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| The past was close behind
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| I seen a lot of women
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| But she never escaped my mind
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| And I just grew
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| Tangled up in blue
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| She was working in a topless place
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| And I stopped in for a beer
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| I just kept looking at the side of her face
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| In the spotlight, so clear
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| And later on, when the crowd thinned out
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| I was just about to do the same
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| She was standing there, in back of my chair
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| Said to me «Tell me, don’t I know your name?»
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| I muttered something underneath my breath
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| She studied the lines on my face
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| I must admit, I felt a little uneasy
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| When she bent down to tie the laces
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| Of my shoe
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| Tangled up in blue
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| She lit a burner on the stove
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| And offered me a pipe
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| «I thought you’d never say hello» she said
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| «You look like the silent type»
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| Then she opened up a book of poems
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| And handed it to me
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| Written by an Italian poet
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| From the thirteenth century
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| And every one of them words rang true
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| And glowed like burning coal
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| Pouring off of every page
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| Like it was written in my soul
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| From me to you
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| Tangled up in blue
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| I lived with them on Montague Street
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| In a basement down the stairs
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| There was music in the cafes at night
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| And revolution in the air
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| Then he started into dealing with slaves
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| And something inside of him died
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| She had to sell everything she owned
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| And froze up inside
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| And when it finally, the bottom fell out
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| I became withdrawn
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| The only thing I knew how to do
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| Was to keep on keeping on
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| Like a bird that flew
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| Tangled up in blue
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| So now I’m going back again
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| I got to get to her somehow
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| All the people we used to know
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| They’re an illusion to me now
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| Some are mathematicians
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| Some are carpenter’s wives
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| Don’t know how it all got started
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| I don’t know what they’re doing with their lives
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| But me, I’m still on the road
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| A-heading for another joint
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| We always did feel the same
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| We just saw it from a different point
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| Of view
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| Tangled up in blue |