Bruce Springsteen

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Like a million lusty drunks,
on nights of driving down
despairing streets,
cigarette ends lighting up the dark,
shouting down the world
telling all who cared to listen
that we were born to run.

You made grown men weep,
pump fists and frown
and full-throated sing
of when they once
were young.

And will we grow old together,
embers still aglow,
dreaming of how we may still
go down to the river
and dive?

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