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And it's a long, long way to the top
But when you come down, it's one headlong rush
You've got an itch to scratch shiny bits of light
Hanging like stars
Hanging like stars
And Mary says, "You're such a restless soul"
My bicycle spaniard
My Magyar cow
You've got an itch to find what's best, left lost and cold
My bicycle spaniard
My poor restless soul
My bicycle spaniard
My poor restless soul
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