Big nothing.
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He stood in the road outside of town
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With a broken clockwork toy in his hand.
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A graveyard for childish dreams in his palm
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A broken lifeline.
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Big nothing.
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The mechanical amusement sputtered to life in his fist.
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As he clenched, it whirred and died again.
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It was a cowboy who drew his gun,
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but the pistol was welded to the holster
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by age and careless children,
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So it struggled and strained
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and it unwound its own spring.
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Big nothing.
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He didn't need tattoos to show where he'd been
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And who he'd loved.
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It was the same thing that men had cried for;
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That women had dyed their hair for.
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The cellophane illusion of a starry sky
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Stretched over an open sore.
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Big nothing.
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He thought about his lost daughter
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The way her eyes would alight at the greedy circus barker's blackmail song
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How he wanted to smash her skull in when she parroted back,
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'Tell mommy; tell poppy; you need this little dolly.'
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Big nothing.
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Big nothing.
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The smoky voice of the petaled girl woke him long enough.
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There was too much light in the room, so he unscrewed the bulb.
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She took him to bed like an adopted dog.
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Big nothing.
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She lit sickly incense, as he tried to tell himself
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The resemblance were pure and coincidental.
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He unleashed his grip on the toy and all it meant to him,
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And it wound down forever.
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Big nothing.
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He woke up in a sweat, the next day.
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With her smile still painted on his mouth
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He walked out of a town called Big Nothing.
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Big nothing. [Repeat until fade]
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-----------------
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A Town Called Big Nothing (Really Big Nothing)
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Elvis Costello |