| Love is nothing more than a stain on a dress
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| Watching things you sold being purchased for less
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| Euthanasia that’s easy to ingest
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| And they call this making progress
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| If you take a billion plus a little finesse
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| And dreamy Yale boys cashing in on their «success»
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| Then you take a bath in Uncle Sam’s treasure chest
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| That equals making progress
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| Meanwhile I am drowning in an ocean of stress
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| Analyzing data for a sure, sure bet
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| An affordable commodity that I can invest
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| Your love
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| Your sweet, sweet love I guess
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| Baby, baby it would be the best
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| If we got together tonight and regressed
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| It’s not like we’d be de-evolving
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| And the world wouldn’t stop revolving
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| We could forget the problems no one’s solving
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| Surely I jest
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| And you’re not listening anyway
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| Where we go from here baby is anybody’s guess
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| So repress your insecurities and take off that dress
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| Cause the day we realize no one can clean up this mess
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| Will be a fine day for making progress |