| Meet me up on 99, beneath the Marco Polo sign
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| I’ll be the one with a box of wine and a hundred dollar car
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| We could talk about the lives we’ve led
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| And count the reasons we’re not dead
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| Or maybe we could talk instead about the ways in which we are
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| Always nothing or too much to say
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| Only so many sides of the record to play
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| And the song that got stuck in my head said
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| You die by what you live by
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| You will die by what you live by
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| You will die by what you live by every time
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| Like carnivores to carnal pleasures
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| So were we to desperate measures
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| Melting into stagnant puddles, beat down by the sun
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| I went to school, I didn’t stay
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| Spoke right up when I had nothing good to say
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| (and I said it to anyone who would listen)
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| Lay me down in the bed that I made
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| Starved for sleep by the shrill serenade
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| Singing over and over |