| Stand here with the mountain in background
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| The copper mine up the hill from the town
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| Sits asleep like a retiree
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| Once used and now no use for
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| People used to work here
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| And mined their lives from this ground
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| Crushed them in these machines
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| And forged them in the future
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| We just take pictures
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| Of hearts that stopped beating
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| Sometimes you’re a tourist with a camera
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| Stealing souls for scrapbooks
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| Sometimes you’ve got a life back home
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| Sometimes you’re really alone, you’re really alone
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| Sometimes you’re really alone
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| Sometimes you’re really alone, you’re really alone
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| Sometimes you’re really alone
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| We go home, after fishin' all day
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| And get our hands dirty
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| Getting the catch clean
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| And Mike is in the kitchen
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| He’s heating up the fry pan
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| And we’re in the front yard
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| We’re watching the sun fall
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| People used to live here
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| And lived their lives on this ground
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| Raised them in these fields
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| And lost them in the future
|
| And we just take pictures
|
| Of hearts that stopped beating
|
| Sometimes you’re a tourist with a camera
|
| Stealing souls for scrapbooks
|
| Sometimes you’ve got a life back home
|
| Sometimes you’re really alone, you’re really alone
|
| Sometimes you’re really alone
|
| Sometimes you’re really alone, you’re really alone
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| Sometimes you’re really alone |