| I can be romantic
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| When I’m starving for sleep
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| When I try but I can’t seem
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| To remember anything
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| With hair from a dog
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| I’ve got a fistful of its mane
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| It’s too coarse to stomach
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| So I shove it down my throat
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| Luck left late Saturday and now
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| Jesus Christ I’m wrecked to bed
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| They watch me sleeping in the kennel again
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| I can’t recall the bark but the bay, I admit
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| If I was listening I could hear it
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| I’m shock-collared at the gates of heaven
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| 25 years that I’ve been trying to shake loose
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| And if I try to sit still
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| Then someone’s breathing down my neck
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| So I’m embarrassing myself again
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| I should see myself out
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| Lay me down in the tub
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| Throw away my phone
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| Strap a muzzle to my mouth now
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| And Jesus Christ I’m wrecked to bed
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| They watch me sleeping in the kennel again
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| I can’t recall the bark but the bay, I admit
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| If I was listening I could hear it
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| If I was listening I could hear it
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| If I listen I can hear
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| Palms kept white hot gold rings folded like a
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| Knot tied tight sweat leave sleep take me now
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| I’ve done nothing right
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| I’ve gone wrong beside
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| I can’t see what’s there
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| But if I listen I can hear
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| Luck bent low roar drum pressed to the glass
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| The glass pressed loose soft spots marked on the wall
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| Wall an empty stomach
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| I’ve done nothing right
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| I can’t see what’s there
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| If I listen I can hear it
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| Palms kept white hot gold rings folding like a
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| Knot tied tight sweat leave sleep take me now
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| I’ve done nothing right
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| I’ve gone wrong beside
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| I can’t see what’s there
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| I can’t see anything at all |