| I can see my teenage father standing straight on a desolate corner,
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| in the shadow of tentacled towers by the red light of America,
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| I imagine how his mother felt when she heard that her husband was dying,
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| and that underground heroes of the tarmac shooting smack were blowing up worlds
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| and Damned out loud,
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| he, can you tell me how does it feel?
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| yeah, tell me, can you imagine, for a second,
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| doing anything that you don’t have to?
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| well that’s what I’m accustomed to so hooray for me
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| when I slept with stony faces on the riverbank,
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| my angeldevil reveller shook me desperately in dying,
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| I don’t exactly want to apologize for anything, and now
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| we’re all mad and tangled in secret rooms with roman candles,
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| on an endless graveyard train
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| yeah, tell me, can you imagine, for a second, doing
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| anything just 'cuz you want to?
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| well, that’s just what I do so hooray for me
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| yeah, I was dreaming through the «howzlife», yawning,
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| car black, when she told me «mad and meaningless as ever.»,
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| and a song came on my radio like a cemetery rhyme,
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| for a million crying corpses in their tragedy of respectable existence
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| oh, yeah, I’m not respectable, and never sensible,
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| I’ve been incredible so damned irascible
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| and I like the things I do so hooray for me |