| Everybody in the fun house
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| Says they want out
|
| But we’re taking our time
|
| 'Cos we’re in love with time
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| Whole generations thinking of themselves
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| As infidels and pop stars
|
| While the bomb loses patience
|
| We line up and just lean against the bar
|
| Stone cold sober, looking for bottles of love
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| Stone cold sober, looking for bottles of love
|
| Caught in the headlights
|
| Wide-eyed and ready to receive
|
| We are the dead life
|
| Locked in dogfights, lost in disbelief
|
| And these dark days
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| Make the nights seem brighter than they are
|
| So while Fleet Street rolls and the moon glows
|
| In the fun house the fun starts
|
| Stone cold sober, looking for bottles of love
|
| We’re stone cold sober, looking for bottles of love, love, love
|
| We are the dead life
|
| We are the dead life
|
| So come on, come on
|
| Born in the half-light of threats and bribes
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| In a hopeless porn parade
|
| We get the dog’s life, tidbits train us
|
| What to wear, what not to say
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| When you’re footloose and you just feel limbless
|
| Life gets in the way
|
| So we get loaded or totally legless
|
| But stay the same
|
| Stone cold sober, looking for bottles of love
|
| We’re stone cold sober, looking for bottles of love, love
|
| We’re stone cold sober and looking for bottles of love
|
| We’re stone cold sober and looking, looking
|
| So come on, come on
|
| We are the dead life
|
| We are the dead life
|
| We are the dead life |