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that music used to make me smile. |
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And I knew if I had my chance |
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that I could make those people dance |
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and maybe they'd be happy for a while. |
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But February made me shiver, |
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with every paper I'd deliver. |
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Bad news on the doorstep, |
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I couldn't take one more step. |
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I can't remember if I cried |
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when I read about his widowed bride. |
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Something touched me deep inside, |
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the day, the music died. So |
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Bye bye, Miss American Pie. |
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Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry. |
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Them good ole' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye, |
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singin': This'll be the day that I die, |
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this'll be the day that I die. |
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Did you write the book of love |
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and do you have faith in God above? |
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If the Bible tells you so. |
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Now do you believe in rock and roll? |
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Can music save your mortal soul? |
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And can you teach me how to dance real slow? |
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Well, I know that you're in love with him, |
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'cause I saw you dancin' in the gym, |
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you both kicked off your shoes, |
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man I dig those rhythm and blues. |
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I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck |
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with a pink carnation and a pick up truck, |
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but I knew I was out of luck |
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the day, the music, died. I started singing, |
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Now for the years we've been on our own, |
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and moss grows fat on a rollin' stone |
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but that's not how it used to be. |
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When the jester sang for the King and Queen |
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In a coat he borrowed from James Dean |
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and a voice that came from you and me. |
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Oh and while the King was looking down, |
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the jester stole his thorny crown. |
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The courtroom was adjourned, |
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And while Lennon read a book of Marx, |
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the quartet practiced in the park |
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and we sang dirges in the dark |
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the day, the music died. We vere singin' |
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Helter-skelter in the summer swelter, |
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the birds flew off with a fallout shelter. |
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Eight miles high and fallin' fast. |
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It landed foul out on the grass. |
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The players tried for a forward pass, |
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with the jester on the sidelines in a cast. |
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Now the halftime air was sweet perfume, |
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while the sergeants played a marching tune. |
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but we never got the chance. |
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'Cause the players tried to take the field, |
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the marching band refused to yield. |
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Do you recall what was revealed, |
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the day, the music, died. We started singin' |
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Oh, and there we were all in one place, |
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a generation lost in space |
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with no time left to start again. |
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So come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, |
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Jack Flash sat on a candlestick, ´ |
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cause fire is the devil's only friend. |
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Oh, and as I watched him on the stage |
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my hands were clenched in fists of rage. |
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could break that Satan's spell. |
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And as the flames climbed high into the night, |
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to light the sacrificial rite |
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I saw Satan laughing with delight |
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the day, the music, died. He was singin' |
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I met a girl who sang the blues |
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and I asked her for some happy news, |
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but she just smiled and turned away. |
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I went down to the sacred store |
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where I heard the music years before, |
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but the man there said the music wouldn't play. |
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And in the streets the children screamed, |
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the lovers cried and the poets dreamed. |
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But not a word was spoken, |
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the church bell all were broken. |
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And the three men I admire most, |
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the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost, |
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they caught the last train for the coast, |
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the day, the music, died. And they were singin' |
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Bye bye, Miss American Pie, |
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Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry, |
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Them good ole' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye, |
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singin': This'll be the day that I die. |
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