| Something kind of hit me today
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| I looked at you and wondered if you saw things my way
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| People will hold us to blame
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| It hit me today, it hit me today
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| We’re taking it hard all the time
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| Why don’t we pass it by?
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| Just reply, you’ve changed your mind
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| We’re fighting with the eyes of the blind
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| Taking it hard, taking it hard
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| Yet now
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| We feel that we are paper, choking on you nightly
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| They tell me: son, we want you, be elusive, but don’t walk far
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| For we’re breaking in the new boys, deceive your next of kin
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| For you’re dancing where the dogs decay, defecating ecstasy
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| You’re just an ally of the leecher
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| Locator for the virgin King, but I love you in your fuck-me pumps
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| And your nimble dress that trails
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| Oh, dress yourself, my urchin one, for I hear them on the rails
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| Because of all we’ve seen, because of all we’ve said
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| We are the dead
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| One thing kind of touched me today
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| I looked at you and counted all the times we had laid
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| Pressing our love through the night
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| Knowing it’s right, knowing it’s right
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| Now I’m hoping some one will care
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| Living on the breath of a hope to be shared
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| Trusting on the sons of our love
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| That someone will care, someone will care
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| But now
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| We’re today’s scrambled creatures
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| Locked in tomorrow’s double feature
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| Heaven’s on the pillow, its silence competes with hell
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| It’s a twenty-four hour service, guaranteed to make you tell
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| And the streets are full of pressmen
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| Bent on getting hung and buried
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| And the legendary curtains are drawn 'round Baby Bankrupt
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| Who sucks you while you’re sleeping
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| It’s the theatre of financiers
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| Count them, fifteen 'round a table
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| White and dressed to kill
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| Oh, caress yourself, my juicy
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| For my hands have all but withered
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| Oh, dress yourself my urchin one, for I hear them on the stairs
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| Because of all we’ve seen, because of all we’ve said
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| We are the dead
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| We are the dead
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| We are the dead |