| no matter how many times we paint over these walls
|
| the writing still shines through
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| in the stream of commerce we’re afloat
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| a thousand washed-up rockers trash the banks.
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| oh no.
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| in the stream of commerce we’re afloat
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| and unafraid to sail a sinking boat
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| honestly my hand is on the plug this time
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| it says here right on my dotted line
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| haste creates waste
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| keep your eyes on the road
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| you might be able to drive
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| but you’re so lucky to be alive
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| in the stream of commerce we’re afloat
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| miles of red tape have choked us dead
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| now it’s building like a nasty mold
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| and everybody can’t help but catch the cold
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| aah aahh aaahh
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| all the writing on the wall shines through…
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| all the while we knew. |