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I filled my pockets up with coal black with mud
And let him go

I'll throw my hat off when I beat you
Find it when you're gone
There's a straw and cotton around the station
I'll make myself a new one

I held a silver dollar tight inside my fist
And let you go
I've counted all the things I've lost, that point to this
And let you go

The whistle's sounding
You are leaving
I am counting