| I pity inanimate objects
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| Because they can’t move
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| From specks of dust to paperweights
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| Or a pound note sealed in resin
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| Plastic Santas in perpetual underwater snowstorms
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| Sculptures that appear to be moving
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| But aren’t
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| I feel sorry for them all
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| What are they thinking
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| When they arrive at a place
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| Do they sigh with disappointment
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| And when they leave
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| Do they have regrets?
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| Is a sofa as happy in one corner
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| As it is in another
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| And how does the room feel about it?
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| I pity inanimate objects
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| I pity inanimate objects
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| I pity inanimate objects
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| I pity them all
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| Physics isn’t fair
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| Is a tree as a rocking horse
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| An ambition fulfilled
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| And is the sawdust jealous?
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| I worry about these things
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| Peppercorns don’t move
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| Until they contaminate the ice-cream
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| Three weeks later
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| Is the gold in Fort Knox happy gold?
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| I care about these things
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| Some things are better left alone
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| Grains of sand prefer their own company
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| But magnets are two faced
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| No choice for sugar
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| But what choice could there be
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| But to drown in coffee or to drown in tea
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| The frustrations of being inanimate
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| Maybe it’s better that way
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| The fewer the moving parts
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| The less there is to go wrong
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| I wonder about these things
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| I pity inanimate objects
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| I pity inanimate objects
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| I pity inanimate objects
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| I pity them all |