| It’s the twilight hour
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| As the sun goes down
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| I see a flatbed Ford with a scrapyard load
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| Rattle off through town
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| The railroad crossing lights flash on
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| There ain’t no train in sight
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| A crescent moon will soon ascend
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| As day gives way to night
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| And I feel home
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| And I think how far away
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| I got from home
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| Back in the bad old days
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| But I’m done turning diamonds to coal
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| Now just before dinner time
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| This old drunk comes knocking on my door
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| Say he’s looking for some girl who lived here
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| Twenty-seven years ago
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| The radio in the kitchen is playing
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| 'Papa Was A Rolling Stone'
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| And as he strolls away into the night
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| And the streetlights flicker on
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| I get to thinking about home
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| And how sometimes there come a day
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| When I try to get back home
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| But all you can do is run away
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| But I’m done turning diamonds to coal
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| In love we find out who we are
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| In sorrow we abide
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| Our strength’s revealed by what we build
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| From the broken things inside
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| But a day will come when you will know
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| Which way you must choose to go
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| To travel on and live alone
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| Or turn yourself around and try to get back home
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| Try to get back home
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| And now way up high two jet planes
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| Weave spider webs across the sky
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| As that flatbed Ford has dropped his load
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| Now there he goes swinging by
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| And the silence gathering 'round this house
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| Makes such a lovely sound
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| That I know for sure that I am cured
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| From turning diamonds, from turning diamonds to coal
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| 'Cause I feel home and I’m done turning diamonds to coal
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| Yes, I’m done turning diamonds to coal
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| Yes, I’m done turning diamonds to coal
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| Yes, I’m done turning diamonds to coal
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| Yes, I’m done turning diamonds to coal |