| You’re looking at life through the wrong end by a telescope
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| You see a on a slippery slope
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| On the claws of death, in the back of your mind
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| Everything exists in some shape or form
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| Because you like to know your feelings
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| And you like to do your thing
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| And the whole world that’s around you
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| Doesn’t mean anything
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| Inner-city live, living with tracker dogs
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| Too much information, running wild, that’s what you buy
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| All you got now is your precious time
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| You live your life high, wondering «Why?»
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| Because you like to know your feelings
|
| And you like to do your thing
|
| And the whole world that’s around you
|
| Doesn’t mean anything
|
| Because you like to know your feelings
|
| And you like to do your thing
|
| And the whole world that’s around you
|
| Doesn’t mean anything
|
| Because you like to know your feelings
|
| And you like to do your thing
|
| And the whole world that’s around you
|
| Doesn’t mean anything
|
| Doesn’t mean anything
|
| Doesn’t mean anything
|
| Doesn’t mean anything
|
| Doesn’t mean anything
|
| Doesn’t mean anything |