| There she goes, the girl with the thorns
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| A crowd to which she was born
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| She gets lost and torn, at times in a war,
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| Looking for sinking scores
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| There’s a boy, in constant dismay,
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| Crowding in the doorway,
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| Thinking of rooms, all painted pale blue
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| Are we just walking through?
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| Hmmm… It’s a vacant youth.
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| So come all you youth, vacant in truth
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| Take your seat on the floor
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| We blew out the walls, with our youthful wrongs
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| But hey, we still got those songs
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| Hmmm… It’s a vacant youth.
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| So hey misanthrope, you terrible joke,
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| Do the women come and go?
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| Well «fashionable «e"and Michelangelo
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| Look all too painfully wrote
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| Hmmm… It’s a vacant youth
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| Sons of daughters, daughters of fathers
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| Those barren-railed plans we become
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| A job in defense, for a white picket fence
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| Well, I wish you well in the end |