| See him wasted on the sidewalk in his jacket and his jeans,
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| Wearin' yesterday’s misfortunes like a smile
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| Once he had a future full of money, love, and dreams,
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| Which he spent like they was goin' outa style
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| And he keeps right on a’changin' for the better or the worse,
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| Searchin' for a shrine he’s never found
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| Never knowin' if believin' is a blessin' or a curse,
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| Or if the goin' up was worth the comin' down
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| CHORUS:
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| He’s a poet, he’s a picker
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| He’s a prophet, he’s a pusher
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| He’s a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he’s stoned
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| He’s a walkin' contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction,
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| Takin' ev’ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home.
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| He has tasted good and evil in your bedrooms and your bars,
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| And he’s traded in tomorrow for today
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| Runnin' from his devils, Lord, and reachin' for the stars,
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| And losin' all he’s loved along the way
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| But if this world keeps right on turnin' for the better or the worse,
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| And all he ever gets is older and around
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| From the rockin' of the cradle to the rollin' of the hearse,
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| The goin' up was worth the comin' down
|
| CHORUS:
|
| He’s a poet, he’s a picker
|
| He’s a prophet, he’s a pusher
|
| He’s a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he’s stoned
|
| He’s a walkin' contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction,
|
| Takin' ev’ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home.
|
| There’s a lotta wrong directions on that lonely way back home. |