| I ran down the road
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| Pants down to my knees
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| Screaming, «Please come help me
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| That Canadian shaman gave a little too much to me!»
|
| And I’m writing a novel
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| 'Cause it’s never been done before
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| First house that I saw
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| I wrote, «House"up on the door
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| And told the people who lived there they had to get out
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| «'Cause my reality is realer than yours»
|
| And there’s no time in the present
|
| And there’s a black dog on the bed
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| I went to the backyard
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| To burn my only clothes
|
| And the dog ran out and said
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| «You can’t turn nothing into nothingness with me no more»
|
| Well I’m no doctor
|
| But that monkey might be right
|
| And if he is
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| I’ll be walking him my whole life
|
| I rode to Malibu
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| On a dune buggy with Neil
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| He said, «You're gonna have to drown me down on the beach
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| If you ever want to write 'the real'.»
|
| And I said «I'm sorry.
|
| Young man what is your name again?»
|
| Now everywhere I go
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| In West Hollywood
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| It’s filled with people pretending they don’t see the actress
|
| And the actress wishing that they could
|
| We could do ayahuasca
|
| Baby, if I wasn’t holding all these drinks
|
| Something 'bout the way
|
| Violet whips her hair
|
| That makes me empty my pockets on the corner to corner
|
| Bumming twenties as if I was the mayor
|
| I don’t need any new friends, Mama
|
| But I could really use something to do
|
| So if you’re up for it sometimes
|
| I swear you wouldn’t have to be my muse
|
| Heidegger and Sartre
|
| Drinking poppy tea
|
| I could’ve sworn last night I passed out in my van
|
| And now these guys are pouring one for me
|
| I’ll never leave the canyon
|
| 'Cause I’m surrounded on all sides
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| By people writing novels
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| And living on amusement rides |