| What is it to take care of yourself? |
| What are we taking care of?
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| A million bedrooms with hands softly lulling our divine cocks and cunts
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| Without telling anyone, a million ships come alone out on the calmest seas
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| So are we loving ourselves now? |
| Are we mothering ourselves?
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| Statistics and newspapers tell me I am unhappy and dying
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| That I need man and child to fulfill me, that I’m more likely to get breast
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| cancer
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| And it’s biology, it’s my own fault, it’s divine punishment of the unruly
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| It’s fearful out here on the calmest seas
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| We who grew up singing Merry Christmas! |
| War is over
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| Our mothers softly humming: we’re at the end of history
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| But I keep growing older, eight years since 25 now
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| And all that ages now is the body, I wonder why
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| I think to myself one of these days
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| Everything I write begins with the question, what’s wrong with me?
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| You say I’m free now, that battle is over
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| And feminism is over and socialism’s over
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| Yeah, I say I can consume what I want now
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| This is what happens on the edge of history: the Great Eye turns to us
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| We are the only thing that’s aging, but we don’t know it yet
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| We cling onto Heaven, Heaven, Heaven
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| Sleep tight forever |