| I don’t know how to behave
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| Reacting, fists dangling
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| About the same time every day
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| Sometimes an outfit blows in from the street
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| I can bring in the bolts and sleep
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| But the old flag knits and rises
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| Shells and shards dust the yard
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| I wish it was white, I wish it was white
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| But it needs blood for the new erection
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| I try to be light, stop the low talk
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| But I am a coward, and Camus was right
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| You slide like a bangle down the day’s arm
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| Waiting the hand to be given away
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| But I don’t deserve it, I won’t wear it
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| I know it’s a gift but Christmas is gone
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| I’m ashamed of the quiet but I want to be silent
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| Always practicing, still no grace
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| I get so anxious I need a tattoo
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| Something binding, that hides me
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| But when the time comes to design it
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| It opens up like height under a pilot
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| Like height under a pilot
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| It opens up like height under a pilot |