| Heatstroke, I’m looking at your pictures
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| From new to old
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| As you’re becoming less into yourself
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| And more into the world
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| It’s an elephant graveyard
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| And that was 2004
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| And you were in terrible trouble
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| Now that’s gone, gone, gone
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| At first worse things are happening
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| And the weeks are just counting down
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| You think that you’ll be different then
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| And you are, but how?
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| And each year you think the next
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| One is the future and then you’re there
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| A new result you can’t recall
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| Or just avoid like a private number
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| And Europe’s fucked, probably
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| It seems insane
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| My friends' art needs guarding
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| End of days
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| I think I’ve never been better
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| I’m at the top of my game
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| I’m living it up for TV dust
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| And disassemble, you’ve got to disassemble that stuff
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| Now there’s more light coming from my screen
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| Than light from outside
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| I see myself as if from the street
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| And I turn on the light
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| And I look at old emails
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| I have forgotten which
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| But why am I telling you this?
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| You are not even here |