| Did the seesaw nights put their hands on you?
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| I can’t really say, I can’t really say
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| Are you swinging from the eaves in a tasteful noose?
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| I can’t really say, I can’t really say
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| You’re following a flashlight down utility halls
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| And then you mumble to yourself that this has all been your fault
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| And oh, you’re not laughing, you’re not laughing, are you?
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| And now some local loser with a tape and a badge
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| Wants you to answer from the list of pointless questions to ask
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| And no he’s not sincere, you’re not sincere, are you?
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| Then the howls and moans pour from the black and it’s a sea of blank faces
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| straight to the back
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| Aggressively mediocre in every single way
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| Yet you’re the only reason that they came
|
| So if you have to keep singing then singing should be fine
|
| And if it ain’t what you had pictured
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| Yeah that sounds about right
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| Does it matter much to me to mean a thing to you?
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| I can’t really say, I can’t really say
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| They blather incessantly, every drossy last one
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| And then they clamour for attention vomiting opinions
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| But oh you weren’t asking, you’re not asking, are you?
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| Ain’t it hard when you discover that the only thing you’ve ever loved is
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| passing your hat
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| and anything that’s got a pulse is doing just the same
|
| and you’re the only reason that you came
|
| So if you have to keep singing then singing should be fine
|
| And if it ain’t what you had pictured then yeah that’s about right
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| Said if you have to keep singing then singing should be fine
|
| And if it ain’t what you had pictured then yeah that sounds about right |