| Hang in there hangman
|
| Swinging from a gallows pole
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| That dust from your bones
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| Will help the flowers grow
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| Try to die with a smile on
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| Your final fighting defiant song
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| Long gone
|
| Are the worshiping fans and entourage
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| Messiahs lost
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| In a corporate sanctioned holocaust
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| Falling off
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| Is more than slipping from buildings or rocks
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| We’ll remember the classic records forever
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| Those moments before hopelessness choked your focus and left you severed
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| We can smell the death of winter
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| It burns out our nostril hairs
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| And tosses the frail
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| Fossils from here
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| Dropping entrails
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| Over yellow brick roads
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| That are now covered in piss
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| Not gold
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| Riddled with potholes
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| So rot slow
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| With the rest of the apostles
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| God knows
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| What the world could have been with you
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| Before the mighty monster chewed your sinews
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| And spit you into
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| Something so cynical and simple
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| There is a terror that plagues the bearers of veins barren of blood
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| But for the bitter fetor of liquid love
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| Oh child, undone, your time has come
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| In absolute awe, we stared as you fastened on to your fears fearlessly
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| Peering into the mirror, then crafting songs from your experiences there
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| Such searing sermons on the self, delivered from an impermanent pulpit
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| Built of heartwreck, regret, sex, bourbon, and bullshit
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| The crashing down was catastrophic
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| The sadness sounded from some seven hundred thousand heartbeats halting
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| Oh, entire cities retired to pity this liars departure
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| The fires it sparked were but sires to quiet hearths where aspiring authors
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| made i and irony mired martyrs
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| Sirens sang from the swells, secrets you swore you’d never tell
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| A closed casket to cloak your gross cadaver, bloated, throat, rope ravaged
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| Your rigor mortise riddled corpse. |
| this empty shell
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| They teach us pull ourselves together in a game of hangman
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| Firing blanks and empty the clip now hang in the balancing act — uality
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| That the honor we have is not about us but the collars we sla — shhhh
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| …And there’s a hush over the crowd
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| Hanging heads holding the crowns unload silver cloaking the clouds
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| While clothes make the mantra affix ya face to waistband
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| Take chance, risk inconsiderate vowels (vows)
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| Line your liner notes by the throat, cause this is a noun
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| Win lose or draw, go through withdrawals, perform to your credit
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| Be deified by the palindrome at the speed of life by pawning your ethics
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| Rise or fall in this life sentence by applied grammar
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| Talk is cheap til they hang on your every word like sky banners
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| Give it up for once last time
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| Yes, one last hurrah
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| One final round of applause before our hero dissolves
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| And when the clock hit ten
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| There was no opening act
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| No one to heighten impact
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| The stage was fully intact
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| For the one man band to react
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| To the sold out crowd in his mind
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| In 1999
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| No one could have ever thought there would have been a possibility of such a
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| well adjusted wannabe celebrity to ever come to utter culmination like this
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| So there wasn’t any total bliss
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| An imaginary pussy fest
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| Cause there’s no outlets left for the one man band
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| As he stands on the stage half naked covered in sweat
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| So let backup tracks on your Discman blast
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| As you revisit the past
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| And reinterpret the laughs |