| I’m wearing old boots with high Cuban heels
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| Our souls, they are worn and we stand here by grace
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| My trousers are torn, my jacket is borrowed
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| And I’m wearing my time behind the eyes in my face
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| And I’m not looking for loose diamonds
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| Or pretty girls with crosses 'round their necks
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| I don’t want four roses or water
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| I’m not looking for God, I’m not looking for sex
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| I’ve worn out my welcome in certain small circles
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| In Spanish bordellos and confederate states
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| But there is an angel in leathers and kindness
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| She whispers my name and she smiles at my fate
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| And I’m not looking for loose diamonds
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| Or pretty girls with crosses 'round their necks
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| I don’t want four roses or water
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| I’m not looking for God, I’m not looking for sex
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| And all the true believers are out on the road tonight
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| No matter what happens, you know they’ll be okay
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| And to the rock and roll gypsies, may the last song you sing
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| Be by Mr. Van Zandt when you’re down in old Santa Fe
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| Now I have a mission and a small code of honor:
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| To stand and deliver by whatever measures
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| And the message I give you, it’s by this old poet Rilke
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| He said «Our fears are like dragons guarding our most precious treasures»
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| And I’m not looking for loose diamonds
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| Or pretty girls with crosses 'round their necks
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| I don’t want four roses or water
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| I’m not looking for God, I’m just wonderin' what’s next |