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Lost and Found
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A year in the making
Free
Pop - Adult Contemporary
Previous peak charts position #47
Previous peak charts position in subgenre #8
Judge ? Tyson
yes
January 23, 2019
MP3 19.1 MB
128 kbps bitrate
20:50 minutes
Lyrics
Calling to imaginary friends His one last chance to explode Hope is a cloud above his head Wearing poverty just like a coat Paradise?… won’t find it here Window watching souvenir Erin takes what she can She got no commitment in sight Carries the weight of popular demand In a world of her own devise Safety pin for lollipop Runaway or window-shopper Who would believe this situation Seemingly opposite relation There’s another fellow over there He’s liberating wayward souls For the Holy with a cross to bear God’s work is a one-man-show And he’s a riveting orator Sinner with an Open-Door… Taking the train back from New York We saw ourselves in old familiar ways Poor boy, a god in handsome green You’ve got to keep it clean It’s all you can hope for Poor lad, sure you must be mad Don’t look now they’re coming after you… The toe-tapping insomniac… an innocent bystander to the supreme sacrifice… Waiting with bated breath, oozing a pale confidence, understanding is an aberation… Erin’s in a hurry as she scurries up the stair With hand held high, she waves “goodbye” Who needs a millionaire Andrew takes a taxi and in the back relax With Erin’s eyes still in his mind he reads a zodiac Tomorrow’s a bad day, If they ever find me… Poor boy, a god in handsome green You’ve got to keep it clean It’s all you can hope for Poor lad, sure you must be mad Don’t look now they’re coming after you… The smoke hangs like haze above the poets and players on the corner across from the, once and future, entrepenurial fighter… standing, with arms akimbo, in the growing shadow of the mercurial ghost whose low and distant moaning awakens the androgynous outsiders waiting in the shallow graves of their own virtual existence. Listen, You drive me out of my mind Reason, Don’t you think me unkind This is only a test, a man under stress Flying, defying gravity Soaring, ignoring tragedy I’d be better off dead, isn’t that what you said Never looking backward but you left your stain Welcome to the jungle as you feel the rain “So why don’t you move me as you are, ‘cause I like it…” Nature… has its way Wind and rain Calling (calls me) Early morning, crack of dawn Waiting for the rising sun Far across the glen… the fog rolling in Shadows gathered there Like divers coming up for air Water falling below, a rose colored show Welcome to the canyon of the waterfall The man with attitude arrives with natures call “We’ve got a way to amuse you… come one, come all “Why, there he is, the Mad Dasher” “That’s him right there next to the surrey box” “It’s now past twelve O’clock, so I wonder what he wants” “You’d do yourself wise to keep your fishhooks out of me” [ street corner evangelist ] I don’t know what he means And answers aren’t always what they seem to be If only I could have some wings, If only I could have… Gonna find my way some day Someday there’ll be so much to look back on The day begins… the afternoon Finds me with my friends… all alone You can go where you want (If you believe what you’ve been told) And it’s cool when you’re hot (Bring everything your arms can hold) You can sleep when you’re tired (If you’ve been down and feeling small) And work when you’re not (Garden green, waterfall) Take you’re time, bring your wine, everyday, rain or shine If you go down to Adam’s Hole you better take the very old If you go down to take a ride no matter what’s inside Above it all Whether pauper, king or pawn, if rich or poor Come to the waterfall, come to the waterfall Underneath the canopy that shades July Chance a caterpillar meet a butterfly Come to the waterfall, come to the waterfall I don’t know what he plans Questions are always, maybe, better left to chance If only I could have some wings, If only I could have… Standing, with arms akimbo, in the growing shadow of the mercurial ghost whose low and distant moaning awakens the androgynous outsiders waiting in the shallow graves of their own virtual existence. Poor boy, a god in handsome green
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