| All the pieces where they ought to be
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| But it’s clear that he don’t look like me
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| Pick a place around the table talk
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| Make a push to wake the comatose
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| Say you pause to say what’s wrong
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| And quickly blow up the cover
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| There’s a way through fogs as long as there’s a light to discover (it)
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| Like a twisted stick, let’s dig through the sick
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| And find a level space
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| Cinch to say
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| It’s a gut that fears all things unknown
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| And a link within the brain you know
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| Not a shame to say the instinct’s there
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| But a virtue to deny the bait
|
| Know the cause and move to gauze and deftly
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| Tratar o sangue
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| In the lawn there’s room to move
|
| As there’s a need to uncover it
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| As a choker sucks, let’s sift through the muck
|
| And lift this dingy veil
|
| Same old tale
|
| Get mixed in this crippling fixture
|
| Try and approach the hidden mixtures
|
| Get mixed in this crippling fixture
|
| Try and approach the hidden picture
|
| For a misplaced stash, let’s search through the trash
|
| And write this ignorant lurch
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| Wicked urge
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| Raise the gab above a whisper
|
| Speak to salve a spoiling blister
|
| Raise the gab above a whisper
|
| Talk to cure a blister picture |