There's a haze on the skyline, to wish me on my way.
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And there's a note on the telephone --- some roses on a
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tray.
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And the motorway's stretching right out to us all,
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as I pull on my old wings --- one white duck
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on your wall.
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Isn't it just too damn real?
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I'll catch a ride on your violin --- strung upon your bow.
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And I'll float on your melody --- sing your chorus soft
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and low.
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There's a picture-view postcard to say that I called.
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You can see from the fireplace, one white duck
|
on your wall.
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Isn't it just too damn real?
|
So fly away Peter and fly away Paul --- from the
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finger-tip ledge of contentment.
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The long restless rustle of high-heeled boots calls.
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And I'm probably bound to deceive you after all.
|
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Something must be wrong with me and my brain ---
|
if I'm so patently unrewarding.
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But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that
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way --- and my zero to your power of ten equals
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nothing at all.
|
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There's no double-lock defense; there's no chain on my door.
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I'm available for consultation,
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But remember your way in is also my way out, and
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love's four-letter word is no compensation.
|
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Well, I'm the Black Ace dog-handler: I'm a waiter on
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skates --- so don't you jump to your foreskin conclusion.
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Because I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast trays ---
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to be cleared before I can dine on your sweet Sunday
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lunch confusion.
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|
-----------------
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One White Duck/0=Nothing at All
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Jethro Tull |