| Do you read me?
|
| Do you read me?
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| Do I need to reach through the TV?
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| Do I need to reach through the Ouija?
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| Houston I may have gone too Houdini
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| I’m too uneasy, I’m out of phace
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| And I’m orange tang and I’m powdered eggs
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| And my radio has been down for days
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| I just stand around and sound out the phrase
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| It go «do you read me?»
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| Shook up shoe to beanie
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| I’ll look for the mall graffiti
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| Deep end of some hellhole
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| Come de-tech this tempo
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| I been feeding back in these headphones
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| Beating back a profound fear
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| Farewell to my breadcrumbs
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| Is anybody even out there?
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| I’m like out there in that true 3D
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| That new ether, that «do you read me?»
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| You don’t read me, I’m barely a thing
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| Staring off, I’m too scared to blink
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| I might shrink some and I shrink more
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| Shrink past this pink dwarf
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| No sign of my polestar
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| But oh, up here it don’t mean north
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| Deep space and no G-force
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| And more tumble out to some death bells
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| Some bleep bleep robot voice
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| Some red-light, some send help
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| Street meet some E.T. |
| to come
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| Deep fry and all freak grease and re-hone
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| Reach out, reap what he sow
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| Jesus, do you read me?
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| We don’t
|
| And I play drums on the wheel
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| Whether feeling out of touch
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| Or outgunned in the field
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| Drums on the wheel
|
| Bomb sites and blackouts
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| And fog lights and gas clouds
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| Jockey through vacuums
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| None of our flaps down, it’s shocking
|
| Shot off just one small part of some squadron
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| That ain’t once chosen to abort shit
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| Now we’ve honed in on our problem
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| Non-stop until he stop and see
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| What kind of quadrant he got lost in
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| Do you read me, that option
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| When y’alls options are exhausted
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| I been dropped off in this mosh pit
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| Instead of locked into one orbit
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| Knock knock, fall back
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| Or this cockpit is my coffin
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| Boss levels I’m doomed to repeat
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| New dance called «do you read me?»
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| It evolved as if beyond the yonder mantra
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| What’s none ping in my transponder
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| What’s what the copy y’all plan to conjure
|
| Been handed back to y’all unresponsive
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| Ten-hut now I’m in sync
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| Phone home but just ring and ring
|
| Asteroids that leave marks
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| And black holes that eat stars
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| Green cheese and GPS
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| Be decked with detours
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| Fuel gauge around E street
|
| And my beacons are all blinked out
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| I might slink up in that junk heap
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| You can’t read in or pin down
|
| And I play drums on the wheel
|
| Whether feeling out of touch
|
| Or outgunned in the field
|
| Drums on the wheel
|
| And I play drums on the wheel
|
| Whether feeling out of touch
|
| Or outgunned in the field
|
| Drums on the wheel |