| Hey daughter, say a word about living
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| But mind dealing with taste
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| He did appear, it did occur, but did nothing
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| To make make a shelter of our place
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| Well, karma doesn’t work
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| I’m drowning in a thirst forcing me to climb all the ladders
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| Don’t save any pain
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| It’ll come alive
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| If you die and I don’t, with your words will you come back
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| Tonight I feel baptized in the concrete
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| Leading me somewhere I don’t mind
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| My thoughts play saxophones out in streams
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| An accordion replies
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| And I’m keeping occupied
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| Trying to recognize
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| The pace of your talk in that world
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| Not in faith, in our traces we are alive
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| If you die and I don’t, with your words will you come back
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| Hey daughter say a word about living
|
| But mind dealing with taste
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| Our thoughts need a proper form endlessly
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| Don’t you know I’m applying for a contact?
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| Don’t you know I’m a sign on a line?
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| Don’t you know that I’m wondering.
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| If I die and you don’t with my words will I come back?
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| Die and you don’t with my words will I come back.
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| (We are said to a part of a picture
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| Well, if so I’d rather call you a detail
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| At first glance you probably wouldn’t be noticed
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| But when unveiled you make it all an unforgettable sight) |