| You, you don’t belong
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| In this prison-like hospital
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| But I feel so responsible
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| And I know you feel ashamed
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| Just show me what you started with, that blade
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| Brought you some clean clothes
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| A calling card for the payphone
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| Magazines, headphones, CDs
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| To grant you a distraction
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| Cause I know there’s no one here to take you home
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| You’ll be alright
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| My sound advice
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| Just hope you know
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| We are done
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| It’s time to move on
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| Losing your voice in the crowded streets
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| Pulsing crunch of machinery
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| Oh so harsh frequency
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| In the city that we love
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| We love, we love, we love, love
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| Paint chipped and scraped
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| Evidence of forced entry
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| Red with disgust, violated
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| Remind me why I love
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| Living in this city I call home
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| Passenger’s side, left open wide
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| Glass scattered about
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| Broken along with my optimism
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| Losing your voice in the crowded streets
|
| Pulsing crunch of machinery
|
| The oh so harsh frequency
|
| In the city that we love
|
| We love, we love, we love, love
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| None of your schemes work on me
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| Smoke signals are jokes to see
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| The smell sticks to your clothes
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| It’s on everything I own
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| Like the rain that seeps through the cracks in my rubber soul |