| In my room at Third and Seneca
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| See the pigeons peck on tall roof tops
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| Homeless on the corners, they carouse
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| Ferries float out in the Puget Sound
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| Scenesters with their beards and tennis shoes
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| Skinny girls and pudgy ugly dudes
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| Lift their amplifiers from the ditches
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| Southern doormen brood in barroom witches
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| Seattle black, Alaska blue
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| Oregon grey, raincloud Vancouver
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| Dead in Denver, drowsy Idaho
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| Just dreams away from your love, San Francisco
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| In my room at Laurel and Beverly
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| Your mind blossoms, mine is withering
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| I’m retiring and you’re aspiring
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| You’re dream-chasing, I’m only escaping
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| Blood orange LA, blood red Arizona
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| Lonestar Sante Fe, lone palm La Pomona
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| Old soul San Antonio, dry grass of El Paso
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| Lifetimes away from your love, I know
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| From my view at 32nd Street
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| Winter throws its snow down heavily
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| Empty halls of friends who’ve come and gone
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| I’m awoken, rushed, and dragged along
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| New York, New York, New Haven, Hoboken
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| The skylines appear spinning past in fast motion
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| The words we shared dissolved as they’re spoken
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| All the worlds away from my love |