| It’s crazy, isn’t it?
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| How much they call you crazy
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| And it may be figurative
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| It’s just they called my mother crazy
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| It just rolls off the tongue
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| And you swear that you don’t even mean it as an insult
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| But you can go where you want
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| And I can’t
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| It’s got to the point where I’m not destroyed
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| At least not quite like I used to be
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| It hits me in waves, and it spits in my face
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| And I say «thank you» and go back to sleep
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| And you ask me how I always do that
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| I said «I guess I’ve always had the practice»
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| But if I can only go and do that
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| Without placing my body on the mattress
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| Post-modern art, Kaiser hospital parking lot
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| Rose, corner shot, on a TV that no one saw
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| And you ask me how I always do that
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| I said «I guess I’ve always had the practice»
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| But if I can only go and do that
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| Without placing my body on the mattress
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| It would change my life
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| It would change my life |