It’s a worn-out threadbare echo, falsetto screams in drag
It’s another torn-up dollar bill in a torn-up bag
Can you feel it in the twilight through the sliding door of dregs
Like a deaf-mute minstrel plucking strings and ripping out the pegs
Cap gun shots you aim at me, I’ve seen it all before
One more set of my handprints on this revolving door
You can dress it up in pearls and rings, give it another name
You can push it in my path again, I know it’s still the same
Can you feel it in the chariot hitched up to a log
Whistling in the midnight in a phony neon fog
Can you feel it in the silence when you've cast out all that’s mine
Will you feel it in the loneliness when I’ve moved down the line
Down the line, down the line, down the line
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