| Step down from the SEPTA to the empty street
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| 4th of July, 2015
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| Made plans with Sam and Alex G
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| Got this old feeling
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| More than a memory
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| Met at the Pep Boys on Aramingo
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| Van is full up of fireworks and drunk people
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| Get in instead with Alex’s friend Bo
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| Says, «Watch your step, man
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| There’s precious cargo»
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| And it landed like a joke
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| Like rubber-banded bundles of dope
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| How many universes
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| Am I alive and dead in?
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| A new one every second
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| The path of least resistance
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| Can’t make it matter
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| My life is sliding by
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| Bo’s going 70
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| Side street to Kensington
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| His eyes are X’s and his head’s out the window
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| When he rolls right over some family’s Roman candle
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| Cuts the engine, gets out, then lights a cigarette
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| The dad is spitting mad
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| He brought a scary scary uncle
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| Gun in his waistband
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| How many universes
|
| Am I alive and dead in?
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| A new one every second
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| And then the bat hit Bo’s head
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| Can’t make it matter more
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| Can’t make it matter more
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| Can’t make it matter more
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| My life is sliding by
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| Don’t really know these kids
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| A little old for this
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| This city’s dangerous
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| I guess I’m fine, though
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| My depression suddenly lifted
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| All the adrenaline shocked my nervous system
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| Swore I’d be present and grateful for every second
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| Later the feeling faded
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| I couldn’t help it
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| How many universes
|
| Am I alive and dead in?
|
| A new one every second
|
| And then the bat hit Bo’s head
|
| How many universes
|
| Am I alive and dead in?
|
| A new one every second
|
| Oh |