| This is no great illusion
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| When I’m with you I’m looking for a ghost
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| Or invisible reasons
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| To fall out of love and run screaming from our home
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| Because we live in a house of mirrors
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| We see our fears and everything
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| Our songs, faces, and second hand clothes
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| But more and more we’re suffering
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| Not nobody, not a thousand beers
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| Will keep us from feeling so all alone
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| But you are what you love
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| And not what loves you back
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| That’s why I’m here on your doorstep
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| Pleading for you to take me back
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| The phone is a fine invention
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| It allows me to talk endlessly to you
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| About nothing disguising my intentions
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| Which I’m afraid, my friend, are wildly untrue
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| It’s a sleight of hand, a white soul band
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| The heart attacks I’m convinced I have
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| Every morning upon waking
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| To you I’m a symbol or a monument
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| Your rite of passage to fulfillment
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| But I’m not yours for the taking
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| But you are what you love
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| And not what loves you back
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| So I guess that’s why you keep calling me back
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| I’m fraudulent, a thief at best
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| A coward who paints a bullshit canvas
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| Things that will never happen to me But at arms length, it’s Tim who said
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| I’m good at it, I’ve mastered it Avoiding, avoiding everything
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| But you are what you love, Tim
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| And not what loves you back
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| And I’m in love with illusions
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| So saw me in half
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| I’m in love with tricks
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| So pull another rabbit out of your hat |