| In the streets of New York City
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| ev’ry man can feel the cold.
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| And I don’t want no pity,
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| but I want my story told.
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| When the lights shine down on me,
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| they shine on the little boy.
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| Is this way to make him pay;
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| be’ng born in a world of joy.
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| But like me he don’t know where he’ll go wrong;
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| he won’t cry so many tears
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| till he finds out why he don’t belong like me.
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| there’s no room for us out there;
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| you can lose your hope and pride.
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| When it comes to broken dreams
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| you’ll get your share.
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| Sometime a man breaks down,
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| and the good thing he is looking for
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| are crushed into the ground.
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| Get on up, look around;
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| can’t you feel the wind of change?
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| Get on up, taste the air;
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| can’t you see the wind of change;
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| Don’t you understand what I’m sayin',
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| we need a god down there.
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| A man to lead us children,
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| take us from the valley of fear.
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| Make the lights shine down on us,
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| show us the road to go.
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| Help us survive, make us arrive,
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| teach us what we need to know.
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| But like me he don’t know where he’ll go wrong;
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| he won’t cry so many tears
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| till he finds out why he don’t belong like me.
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| there’s no room for us out there;
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| you can lose your hope and pride.
|
| When it comes to broken dreams
|
| you’ll get your share.
|
| Sometime a man breaks down,
|
| and the good thing he is looking for
|
| are crushed into the ground.
|
| Get on up, look around;
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| can’t you feel the wind of change?
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| Get on up, taste the air;
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| can’t you see the wind of change;
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| Get on up … |