| One day I went to work, told em I had had enough
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| I was born to be an artist I was meant for paint and brush
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| So I sold all I owned, what I didn’t sell I burned
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| And I moved in with my parents, bought supplies with what I’d earned
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| And now all I got to show for these empty cans of paint
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| Is a portrait of my mother, a suburban landscape
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| All the people that I met, all the time that I spent
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| Was a poor man’s fortune but it didn’t pay the rent
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| I made it one whole year
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| Think it went pretty well but I’ll tell you in a minute it was shorter than it
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| felt
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| The nurse called my name and I hobbled to my feet
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| And the test results were good enough to let em set me free
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| Now they’re tearing off my casts and I’m trying to recall
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| How to walk and how to dance and how it feels when I fall
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| I pleaded with the judge and I cried to the jury
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| But my lawyer says it’s over and I really shouldn’t worry
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| I thought I’d get off clean but they heard my past was checkered
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| Don’t they know a man is more than what’s recorded on the record
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| So they hauled me off in chains and they showed me to my cell
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| It’s a place that never rains it’s a steel umbrella |