| Frozen out of focus, the sunday crowd
|
| Started dreaming of television turned up too loud.
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| Coded conversation, half baked and tired,
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| Left us sleeping on blacktops burning the motor mile.
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| And underneath the arcade, details collide
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| Theres good shopping, but all those patrons have too much style.
|
| And moving in slow motion the boulevard started seeping
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| With them half-ravers and techno bars.
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| It is like below the neon sign
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| All speeding past the line and thrashing, Im in paradise.
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| Sealed in concentration, the lantern lights
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| Started shrinking on dead men drinking white liquor wine.
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| And I asked the complication, the methane gas (?)
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| Started leaking on bastards burning half red and black.
|
| We cant ride on ________________ time
|
| All speeding past the line and thrashing, Im in paradise.
|
| And standing at the gates of nc state fair,
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| Saw you smoking with all those new friends youve got to spare.
|
| And melting back in focus the sunday crowd
|
| Started sleeping with white trash heroes, tvs turned down.
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| In their eyes, below the neon sky (?)
|
| All speeding past the line and thrashing, Im in paradise.
|
| We cant lie below ___________ time
|
| All dreaming of the white trash heroes on the boulevard. |
| it is like below the
|
| neon sky (?)
|
| All speeding past the line and thrashing on the boulevard.
|
| We cant lie below ___________ time
|
| All dreaming of the white trash heroes, Im in paradise. |