| I’m a breather mail receiver
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| And I don’t know where I stand
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| Not since someone informed me That my house was built on sand
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| And it’s not the earth beneath me It’s just the concept of the land
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| And I’m standing on the corner
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| When the buildings they all fell
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| If you blink once you’re a goner
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| Everything just goes pell-mell
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| It’s a real hard sell
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| My conceptual hell
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| Not even good for kindling
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| When the buildings they all fell
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| I’m a breather mail receiver
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| Bottom feader just getting by And you know it’s all just par for the course
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| But you blame it on some non-existent force
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| Oh yeah, of course
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| You know you can’t ride the concept of the horse
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| But still I try
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| In a cartoon desert landscape
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| With a pair of ACME jetskates
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| Focused on my destination
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| I seem to have forgot my station
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| Now it’s time to face the nation
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| And I’m riding to meet you
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| On a brown gray speckled mare
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| But there’s something that unnerves me Like I’m riding on thin air
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| These few doubts disserve me Thinking no one really cares
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| And I’m jumping over fences
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| On this obstacle course
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| But it seems I’m getting nowhere
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| On the concept of the horse
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| It’s a real hard sell
|
| My conceptual hell
|
| Not even good for kindling
|
| When the buildings they all fell
|
| I’m a breather
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| Bottom feader
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| How many liters
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| Must I imbibe
|
| And you know it’s all just par for the course
|
| But you blame it on some non-existent force
|
| Oh yeah, of course
|
| You know you can’t ride the concept of the horse
|
| But still I try |