| An old man gave me a tip, he said
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| «Don't waste your time with politics», he said
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| «Just chase skirts instead
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| And «Life is too short, and you’re almost dead», he said
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| «I met a woman once, gave her my best shot
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| But never did I talk, and talk and talk
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| If I had her back, I’d be real as my age
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| I so don’t blame them, I wouldn’t do the same
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| But I can blame them
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| I’d sing her this»
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| And you want to be dressed in poetry
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| But imagery doesn’t fit
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| And you want resizing
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| But darling, dear, get a grip
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| And I think what I just wrote is going over my head
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| I’m stealing lines from myself
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| And what I said was never said
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| It’s just a lyrical lie
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| Made up in my mind
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| You’re moving but not aware
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| You’re drowsy without a care
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| Except keeping your whites behind your lids
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| And your lids are your best canvas
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| I can only imagine what you’re painting
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| What you’re painting
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| And your body on my mattress is proof
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| And your makeup on my pillow is proof
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| But do you think I’m telling you the truth?
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| It’s just a lyrical lie
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| Made up in my mind |