| A meditation
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| Turn the lights off
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| Come on and rock, rock
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| Back to the edge then up to the tip, it’s not, not
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| Nice, the ropes are tight enough to hold but never burn
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| That would defeat the purpose, nothing beneath the surface
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| The surface is just in service of holding the form, cursed
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| The shape is so inescapable, bet it would burn, bet it would hurt
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| And there’s the rub, the red in the flesh is fine but the fire on skin is not
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| Is it possible to not get caught up in the thoughts
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| About whether or not to stop
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| Before the damage done is irreversible but isn’t terminal?
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| Shit, goddamn it, loosen the grip
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| Come on and rock, rock
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| Back the edge then up to the tip, it’s not, not
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| Nice, the ropes are tight enough to hold but never burn
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| That would defeat the purpose, nothing beneath the surface
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| In earnest, you should just let go
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| Before the damage done is irreversible but isn’t terminal
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| Shit, goddamn it, loosen the grip
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| But then the body could slip
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| The plastic body busy being a building built on the basis of never knowing it’s
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| nothing
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| But what if you do, what did you do?
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| What did she say? |
| She was nice but ain’t shit
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| Made a mean bowl of rice and then dipped
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| And the drip is literally slipping away from the fingertips
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| It could cripple a man in a minute if a man could have had a reason to live
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| Come on and rock, rock
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| Back to the edge then up to the tip, it’s not, not
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| Nice, the ropes are tight enough to hold but never burn
|
| That would defeat the purpose, nothing beneath the surface
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| Shit, the drip is literally slipping away from the fingertips
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| Could cripple a man in a minute if a man could have had a reason to live
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| He would be wrong, along come a longing
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| Have you waited long enough? |
| Can you just belong to belonging?
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| She laughed at that, right on
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| Passed out with the light on, pissed off with the pipe on
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| Light grip on the armchair like a pile-on
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| Poundin' out the rhythm in a bygone era
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| But the bylaws of which must state something of copulation
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| And can’t you just say, «fuck»? |
| Could there be less conversation?
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| Or numb release in the dungarees, shoot below the knees
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| There’d be no appeasing anything, based, sacred, beautiful
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| Just simple deeds done simply, no symphony serving up timpani
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| No infamy, just a grim repeat to get away from what you need
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| Turn the lights off when you leave
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| Come on and rock, rock
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| Back to the edge and then up to the tip, it’s not, not
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| Nice, the ropes are tight enough to hold but never burn
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| That would defeat the purpose, nothing beneath the surface
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| Looking over the edge, ain’t the drop, why the screwface?
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| You’ve been saying you want it to stop, why don’t you take
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| One more step and let God, or what you make
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| Up in your head, stir the pot, while you lose faith
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| Shouldn’t be so hard to be apart and be a part of ether
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| Shouldn’t need to start or need a part to be a pardon neither
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| Shouldn’t be restarting, all this starving ain’t the part to feature
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| You are not a body, bodies aren’t often heartless creatures
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| Looking over the edge, ain’t the wind, why the jumpscare?
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| You’ve been saying you hated this skin, why you stuck there?
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| One more step to the wind and then compare
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| If it’s better to never begin, or if there’s sun there
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| Shouldn’t be so hard to be apart and be a part of dust
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| Shouldn’t need to start or need to start believing in the thing you trust
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| Shouldn’t be restarting evenings to receive a piece of crust
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| You are not a body, you’re a metal shell and you can see the rust
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| Come on and rock, rock
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| Back to the edge and then up to the tip, it’s not, not
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| Nice, the ropes are tight enough to hold but never burn
|
| That would defeat the purpose, nothing beneath the surface |