| I heard the truth was built to bend
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| A mechanism to suspend the guilt
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| Is what you are requiring still
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| You’ve got to dance little liar
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| Just like those fibbs to pop and fizz
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| and you’ll be forced, to take that awful quiz
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| and you’re bound to trip
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| and she’ll detect the fiction on, your lips
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| and dig a contradiction up And the clean coming will hurt
|
| and you can never get it spotless
|
| when there’s dirt beneath the dirt
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| The liar takes a lot less time
|
| I’m sure it’s clear and plain to me Its not an alibi you need just yet
|
| Oh no, it’s something for those beads of sweat
|
| Yes that will get you back to normal
|
| And after you have dabbed the patch you’ll grieve
|
| And then proceed to scratch the varnish off
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| That newly added calmness
|
| So as not to raise any alarms too soon
|
| And the clean coming will hurt
|
| And you can never get it spotless
|
| When there’s dirt beneath the dirt
|
| The liar takes a lot less
|
| Time to decide on his saunter
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| Have you got itchy bones
|
| And in all your time alone
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| Can you hack your mind being riddled
|
| with the wrong memories
|
| And the clean coming will hurt
|
| And you can never get it spotless
|
| When there’s dirt between the dirt |