| If you’re all that you’re cracked up to be
|
| Sylvia, come and sit with me
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| And hold my hand, for comfort’s sake
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| If who you are eventually
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| Is all that forms your destiny
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| If character equates to fate
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| Then I’m not great
|
| But it’s not in me to complain
|
| Oh, girl in white, come close to me
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| Hold my hand, pass notes to me
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| Unquestioning in dormitories
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| We string our beads and fill our plates
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| The days repeat and play again
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| And times goes by so idly
|
| Writing in your diary
|
| And every line the same:
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| That if this is life
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| Then why does it feel like I’m dreaming?
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| Oh, if this is life
|
| Then why does it feel like I’m far away?
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| And
|
| And if this is life
|
| Then why does it feel like I’m dreaming?
|
| Oh, if this is life
|
| Then why does it feel like I’m far away?
|
| And if this is life
|
| Then, Sylvia —
|
| Arriving at the window like the milk
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| All dressed in white
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| Tell me what you are
|
| And tell me, if my character is fate
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| Do I confine myself
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| 'Til I find a way to dream us all awake?
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| It’s weird
|
| Sometimes, well, I swear I don’t remember how you came
|
| Oh, and, girl in white
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| Just tell me if you think I’m dreaming
|
| Oh, if this is life
|
| Then why does it feel like I’m far away?
|
| Oh, and this is life
|
| But still it does feel like I’m dreaming
|
| And if this is life
|
| Then, Sylvia — |