| When I was a little boy I threw away my action toys
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| I became obsessed with operation
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| With Hearts and minds and certain glands
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| You learn to keep a steady hand
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| And thus began a morbid fascination with…
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| Sweetbreads, I could taste what you were thinking
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| Sweetbreads, that’s the taste of neurons thinking
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| Do you wonder where the self resides
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| Is it in your head or between your sides
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| And who’s going to decide its true location?
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| Cause it’s a question for the centuries
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| From communion to mad cow disease
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| But is it worthy of a song — all life’s location?
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| Oh and the sweetest sweetbread of them all within the kingdom of afar
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| Call them thoughts and metaphor-inations
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| They call them
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| Sweetbreads, I could taste what you were thinking
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| Sweetbreads, that’s the taste of neurons thinking
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| Does the thought of bowels red and black
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| The thought of tongues that taste you back fill you with a nauseous elation
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| Where a simple trip to the grocery store could fill you with an abject horror
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| Can you taste the misery of those crustaceans?
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| Oh and the sweetest sweetbread of them all
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| Within the kingdom of afar should’ve caused some silent machinations
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| They call them
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| Sweetbreads, I could taste what you were thinking
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| Sweetbreads, that’s the taste of neurons thinking
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| Aw, I could taste what you were thinking
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| Oh, give me your thoughts about sweetbread |