| The audience in studio
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| Open their god flavored wallets
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| Participants are wearing boots
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| By the machine colored seaside
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| (In a heightened state I guide my floating body through a canyon that’s lined
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| with futuristic cities. |
| Rotating in place mid-air)
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| They’re guided by remote control
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| Proper virtual access
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| I think they’ll be the first in line
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| To purchase tickets for Springsteen
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| Creation is confusion
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| Don’t bother looking at the sky
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| It’s such an obsolete journey
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| And love the locket of your cage
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| In this reality tunnel
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| (With incredible precision I weaved my way through a thousand miles of concrete
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| and neon at new top speeds with my eyes closed)
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| It’s hard to separate completely
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| Can’t quite detach from all the perceived pains
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| Conditioned by the outside
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| Meanwhile
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| Content about it mostly
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| Oh god
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| Do you still think I’m paranoid?
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| I remember you said it
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| When you thought I wasn’t there
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| I know you’re all out to get me
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| Creation delusion
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| And everyone was getting lost
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| At the radical nexus
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| So disregard the empty space
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| Or get used to it farther
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| If there is meaning in this haze
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| Maybe it’s just to experience
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| Something greater than our alternate ego
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| Removed from what we identify as |