| I’m becoming over exposed
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| Like a photograph at the edge of your toes
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| Waiting to be picked up
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| And stuck up, on your bedroom wall
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| And as the bluetac fades away
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| Along with the photograph one might say
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| That it’s all over, the well is dry
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| Mouths are shut, and arms are tied, arms are tied
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| What can I say?
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| This is where I want to stay
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| Taking time, trying to find
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| A cheaper way to spend my time
|
| And you’ll say, «Its not enough»
|
| And you’ll say, «Its not enough»
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| And as the needle plays the tune
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| The guitar chords cry out to you
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| Speaking in all honesty
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| Thoughts you can’t deny, how’s it feel inside?
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| What can I say?
|
| This is where I want to stay
|
| Taking time, trying to find
|
| A cheaper way to spend my time
|
| And you’ll say, «Its not enough»
|
| And you’ll say, «Its not enough» |