| One day you’re going to have to face
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| A deep dark truthful mirror
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| And it’s going to tell you things that I still love
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| you too much to say
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| The sky was just a purple bruise, the ground
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| was iron
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| And you fell all around the town until you
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| looked the same
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| The same eyes, the same lips, the same lie from
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| your tongue trips
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| Deep dark, deep dark truthful mirror
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| Deep dark, deep dark truthful mirror
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| Now the flagstone streets where the newspaper
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| shouts ring to the boots of roustabouts
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| But you’re never in any doubt, there’s something
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| happening somewhere
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| You chase down the road till your fingers bleed
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| On a fiberglass tumbleweed
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| You can blow around the town, but it all shuts
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| down the same
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| So you bay for the boy in the tiger-skin trunks
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| They set him up, set him up on the stool
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| He falls down, falls down like a drunk
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| And you drink till you drool
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| And it’s his story you’ll flatter
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| You’ll stretch him out like a saint
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| But the canvas that he splattered will be the
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| picture that you never paint
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| A stripping puppet on a liquid stick gets into it
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| pretty thick
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| A butterfly drinks a turtle’s tears, but how do
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| you know he really needs it?
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| 'Cos a butterfly feeds on a dead monkey’s hand,
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| Jesus wept he felt abandoned
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| You’re spellbound baby there’s no doubting that
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| Did you ever see a stare like a Persian cat? |