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Fortunate Son
par
Pere Ubu
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Letra
I hear voices in my head That's me My voice The problem with crazy people They don't recognize that voice as their own One person you don't want to be alienated from is yourself That's got to cause problems My favorite voice speaks from under the lamplight Of a roadside diner In the urban sprawl of Los Angeles Some time in the 40s Something like a Jim Thompson novel I like to speak from other places that don't еxist Waiting in line at a Dairy Freeze Whip On a bayou outside Houston Insidе the ghost ruins Of the cities of my Martian ancestors At the end counter table of the Waffle House With the view of Walden Pond I was just there A man about my age comes in For lunch with his granddaughter He punches in Fortunate Son and Layla On the jukebox I'm looking out the window Thinking about America And I start to cry So I pay the waitress for his meal And tell her not to say who it was But she does And he comes out to thank me Thanks for playing the songs I answer You like Eric Clapton? he asks I think about what to say It takes a moment It's a good song I say Places that don't exist have something in common They're real Places that do exist aren't so real after awhile
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