| You thrive on dancing in our laps
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| Before the more familiar chaps
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| Who know the curtain leads to fever
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| We watched the womanizer cry
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| And in the last sip you and I Declared we might require a breather
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| I am a truth’s true truant and I can
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| Feign excitement fluently
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| As solidly as I can busk shock
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| With well presented merryment
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| And I know all too well
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| I shouldn’t break the key off in the lock
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| And the tumble splits the frame revealing silk and fits
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| In the fright lined dining room
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| Throw a gaze towards them while they feast
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| The days drag their heels when you’re not there to crack the whip
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| And the weeks wait to burst like a sachet of brats
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| The old pantomime villian follows my coat
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| And he hides where it hangs and he spies through the slats
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| And meanwhile in the desert’s only costume shop
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| The cowls hang and wait to rot away the identities of the willing
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| I’m back to sugar in the night
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| Rocketing shutter doors
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| Despite the shop not opening for hours
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| You can itch, flap and whistle
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| And try to avoid the tock
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| As I scribbled over drivel you were snoring, showing off
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| The tumble splits the frame revealing silk and fits
|
| In the fright lined dining room
|
| Throw a gaze towards them while they feast |