The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks smoking anything that´ll burn
Some people wrap their lives around a cocktail glass
And you sit wondering
where you´re going to turn.
I got it.
Come. And be my baby
Some prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrow
But others say we´ve got a week or two
The paper is full of every kind of blooming horror
And you still wondering 
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