| I do my best to sleep through the caterwaul
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| The classicist, the posturin' avant-garde
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| I bought a gray macaw, named him Jules Verne
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| He’ll probably outlive me — he’s a bright bird
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| Keeps me company, I teach him new words
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| I saw a hologram at the theme park
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| She looked as real as me through the white fog
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| Then she melted down to her ankles
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| Turned into a million-watt candle
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| If I knew where she went, I would follow
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| Walking through the land of tomorrow
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| Martian trinkets, plastic Apollos
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| In the sunshine, try to act normal
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| My veins are full of flat cherry cola
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| Slept on the bench by her rollercoaster
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| Dreamt I was riding on a motorbike
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| Lion of Judah, painted on the side
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| I’m doing fine, I’m back in the Palisades
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| Life’s a wash, a pastoral school play
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| China shops and cold ivory towers
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| I and I make toast to the Caesars
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| Forcing down the dregs of Decembers
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| Madeline, she spins in a slow bang
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| All through the house, the strong smell of burnt sage
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| Let’s make it clean and run out the spirits
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| I know a diving bell when I hear it
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| We’re going down now under the surface
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| Light to dark can shift in an instant
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| Feeling close but keeping my distance
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| On all fours she’s just so insistent
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| Fills my mind with jump ropes and slit wrists
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| Bust through the firewall into Heaven
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| And then I’m standing in that blinding light
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| Crooked crosses falling from the sky
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| Seen, yeah, seen by I and I (6x)
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| Seen, yeah, seen, yeah, seen, yeah, seen, yeah
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| Seen, yeah, seen by I and I and— |