| Graduates of tablature, a bouquet of garages
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| Put a snout to those mirages, inhaling till we bust
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| I’m sixteen and I’m unit, our instruments can do it
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| Every house show that we blew it, you couldn’t get to us
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| As fever slips the ill into bouts of shivering
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| So do my vivid out-of-body sweat-glossed bleatings
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| Witness close distance with your loudest feelings
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| Come free in camradery
|
| As fever slips the ill into bouts of shivering
|
| So do my vivid out-of-body sweat-glossed bleatings
|
| Witness close distance with your loudest feelings
|
| Come free in camaraderie
|
| While the rapture is young
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| Dote on the friends of your love
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| The least we suffer is with each other
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| Bedlam, but spun in a loom
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| From silks of the Moon go the bands of my youth
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| My loose performing body has all remaining moves
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| Flaunting my camaraderie in groups
|
| As fever slips the ill into bouts of shivering
|
| So do my vivid out-of-body sweat-glossed bleatings
|
| Witness close distance with your loudest feelings
|
| Come free in camaraderie
|
| As fever slips the ill into bouts of shivering
|
| So do my vivid out-of-body sweat-glossed bleatings
|
| Witness close distance with your loudest feelings
|
| Come free in camaraderie
|
| While the rapture is young
|
| Dote on the friends of your love |