by Robin Williamson
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His mother told me everything
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She had every reason to lie
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Down there in the laundromant
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Like his life was tumbling dry
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Born to be a fighter
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With nothing to attack
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They put sugar in his coffee
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And a t-shirt on his back
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And they signed it with a pen
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Now they've got him in ambulance
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And he'll never fight again
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Chorus:
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Nothing in his pockets and
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Nothing in his hand
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That man in the van
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Out there in the desert
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With the dinosaur blues
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With a suitcase full of earvax
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and pencils in his shoes
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The streets were full of marionettes
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And their eyes like blood
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It was raining crucifixes
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To the tune of Billy Buud
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Going to Los Cruces
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To breathe that magic air
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They've got a few shocks for him
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When he gets there
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Good morning to you Dr. Varden
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Good morning to you if you please
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There's many go begging your pardon
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While they're dying by degrees
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The gates of hell were open
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There was no one there inside
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They were all out in Los Cruces
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Giving their hogs a ride
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With clean white jackets
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And their eyes like glass
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Maybe he'll learn to take it slow
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And let it pass
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The Man In the Van
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Robin Williamson |