Inside the lonely building sits the candidate
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His speech is typed and ready, the hundred dollar plates
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Sit on deserted tables beneath fluorescent light
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But no one comes to hear him; no cheers disturb the night
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So where are all the voters? Where the voters' wives?
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They've all gone to the movies, trying to understand their lives
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The candidate is slipping into some dream of old
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Not noticing around him, a thousand rubber chickens going cold.
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The Candidate
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| Al Stewart |
