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Bitterly then I went to the door
Hoping cheering on a brief light I know
It never glows, still as long as I walked outside
Turning the corner and out of sight
If I were to be honest, it's really not that bad
Do I try to be sad?
Break the rules and I might smile tonight
And warm house blows cold out
As I step once more for home
Warm house blows cold out
And it's so rare to be alone
There's a man out on the floor and he's fallen from blows
Well I'm not really sure if he was just a drunken dreamer
Drunken dreamer, I don't know
Dreaming of the promised land but he doesn't see below
Did he run from his sight to the side of the night
That came into your possession?
As I slip down the street of the shining light
Does my head keep my feet's succession?
Is that your last word?
Oh no not really
Make your reply heard
Will you pay so dearly for an hour of joy
And I'm running running running running running running
Running running running running running running
And warm house blows cold out
As I step once more for home
Warm house blows cold out
It's so rare to be alone
And I'm running running running running running running
Running running running running running running
I turn my eyes from the sights I see
And I need the change to frighten me
And I'm running running running running running running
Running running running running running running
And warm house blows cold out
As I step once more for home
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“A lot of the songs I was writing at that time were probably pretty purple and forgettable, but we sang out as if we believed in every word of them. One, called ‘Warm House,’ that owed a big debt to half a dozen Neil Young songs, was written after I was pursued by some hooligans on my way home from Wallasey late one evening. Allan and I harmonized well on a big open chorus and especially on the tag in which just one word was repeated, over and over. The word was ‘Running…’” — Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink, 2015
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