| Weakness, I wouldn’t pay them any mind
|
| Not to what Hollywood says or what Hollywood does
|
| You see it’s no good trying to be someone you’re not
|
| Half-baked prejudice, capture the flag
|
| It seems that I’ll be your mirror, I’m still your fag
|
| The drugs out here are too strong or they’re never enough
|
| And when Annabelle cried for the sixth time
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| I fled to the stoop to take in nursery rhyme
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| Unfolding above celibate moon that would hide away
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| Right there in front of me
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| Annabelle said, «Back inside. |
| What you want with the moon?»
|
| Covered up in television interview smoke
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| I could be in LA, Ma, I really don’t know
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| Anyway, it’s somewhere there’s no telling who does the selling and who gets
|
| straight bought
|
| Lately, the stars have all been swallowed by the clouds and
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| The charlatan whispers replaced by the sound of your castaway cry
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| Neither lost nor found but forever learning
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| These days I take my time (maybe too long) and shine my shoes first
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| As the wine stains me toothless, and your crying don’t hurt
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| The lie that takes me home could well wrap around the earth
|
| As your eyes speak of darts in the sky we through ages before
|
| We through ages before
|
| We through ages before
|
| We through ages before |