| 4 years old
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| I was in a playground digging for bones
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| Underneath the wood chips
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| Under the stones
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| Searching for the dead and gone
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| Dinosaurs with their dead end songs
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| And then
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| When I was 7
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| I planted 20 peach pits in the backyard
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| One of them grew up to be a tree with 50 arms
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| It bore the sweetest fruit I’ve ever tasted
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| And the roots tore through the dirt
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| Tore through the pavement
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| All these animals
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| With their paws in traps
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| All the animals
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| In this bar make me laugh
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| It’s the way that our faces sink at half mast
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| It’s the way that our bodies stink (make noise)
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| I already know them by heart
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| I’ve memorized their reflections
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| And know the art
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| I’ve felt the rush of a big bet
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| And got the scars
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| Covering each bit of this chest
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| We’ll play our parts
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| But every performance will end
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| So if this is really the start of the finish
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| I guess I gotta go ahead and settle for chipping away at the infinite…
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| Only felt alive for a minute’s time…
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| All I ever wanted was to be significant — not losing in my prime
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| Sacrificing my body pocket and mind
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| For a taste of it
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| Spitting in the face of it
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| They love it when a man plummets
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| I’d pray but I can’t stomach that rubbish
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| Where do they really want to go when they die?
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| In the clouds with the most high?
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| Underground or the sky with a clown-like «BIG GUY»?
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| In a wooden box
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| With a suit and tie
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| So the boll weevils can hide
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| With some maggots in between toenails
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| While arachnids swim inside bone marrow?
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| Or would they prefer to go sterile?
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| God Dammit
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| I’m locked inside this unforgiving planet
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| Where people chant of freedom and revolution
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| But have never had it
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| So I’ve been on a quest to find a way out of inevitable gravity and death
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| And I’m at a turning point
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| Wondering if I should quit now
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| But it’s all in jest
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| I feel I’m dick deep
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| And the writer’s block raping my brain
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| Is editing out all the ways I want to say «fuck you» in good taste
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| This is an album
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| About low living
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| Sucking up dust and discovering quickly
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| That the truth is unforgiving
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| All these animals
|
| With their paws in traps
|
| All the animals
|
| In this bar make me laugh
|
| It’s the way that our faces sink at half mast
|
| It’s the way that our bodies stink
|
| 9 years old
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| Saw a man get shot in the road:
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| Robbed a bank
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| Never made it home
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| That’s my fucking hero though
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| A gambler with no soul
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| Took a risk
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| Buried in a hole
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| When I was 12
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| I dreamt Abuelo never went to hell
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| I dreamt he never shot and killed himself
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| In that Puerto Rican motel
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| Where the cane rum sunk into the shelves
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| I painted him in heaven
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| I made believe my father kept clean
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| That addiction wasn’t built inside of me
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| Or David
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| But the tree is still growing
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| And it seems
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| That the fruit it bore 10 years before just wasn’t so sweet
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| Julius
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| I must say
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| I must say
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| I never thought you would fade
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| Julius
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| I must say
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| I must say
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| I never thought you would
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| Julius
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| I must say
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| I must say
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| I never thought you would fade
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| Julius
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| I must say
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| I must say
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| I must say
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| I must say…
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| All these animals
|
| With their paws in traps
|
| All the animals
|
| In this bar make me laugh
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| It’s the way we’re all sinking at half mast
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| It’s Half Mast |