Written by: Stephen Stills
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Four and Twenty years ago I come into this life, Son of a woman And a man who lived in strife. He was tired of being poor But he wasn't into selling door to door And he worked like a devil to be more. A different kind of poverty now upsets me so Night after sleepless night I walk the floor and want to know Why am I so alone? Where is my woman, can I bring her home? Have I driven her away? Is she gone? Morning comes the sunrise, And I'm driven to my bed I see that it is empty And there's devils in my head. I embrace the many colored beast. I grow weary of the torment Can there be no peace? And I find myself just wishing that my life would simply cease.

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