| All I can see is what I’ve fried
|
| And all the world in your black eye
|
| I’ll run in circles all the time
|
| I’ll gather up all that is mine
|
| Into the room inside my head
|
| The walls are black, the roof is red
|
| And fiery like a volcano
|
| I wear it like a massive halo
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| This pretty speckled length of twine
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| That’s wrapped around your neck is mine
|
| A ruby rose, stiffed and froze is what I give to you
|
| I’ll run in circles all the time
|
| I’ll gather up all that is mine
|
| Into the room inside my head
|
| The walls are black, the roof is red
|
| If I could taste your salty head
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| And pick the dead hair from your eyes
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| Let your smell the sweet despise
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| Those peaks and throughs, guts for a valley
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| Are a dead sean in my back alley
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| How tall and wide you have to get
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| How big and dark and badly lit
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| And if I said I did, would you believe me
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| And I showed you gold, would you see through me
|
| And if tomorrow didn’t come
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| Would you?
|
| I’ll run in circles all the time
|
| I’ll gather up all that is mine
|
| Into the room inside my head
|
| The walls are black, the roof is red
|
| I’ll run in circles all the time
|
| I’ll gather up all that is mine
|
| Into the room inside my head
|
| The walls are black, the roof is red
|
| I’ll run in circles all the time
|
| I’ll gather up all that is mine
|
| Into the room inside my head. |