| The moralist on the mountaintop
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| The cap gun cowboy caught playing dress up
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| Patrols his cartoon beat with his costume clothes
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| The damn fool with his ten-top chip
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| His bourgeois blues and his heartbreak habit
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| Slings his lightening bolts, his arrows & stones
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| Well, you could do it forever
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| It won’t make you better
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| Cause you won’t find your mark
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| You could use a mirror
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| To see your target clearer
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| All the bad blood that hijacked your heart
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| But you got what you asked for, so don’t even start:
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| You were never a victim
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| So own what you did, son, admit what you are
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| Dead weight in a tightrope trance
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| The pain pill preacher astray in his wasteland
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| Clenched teeth and a canyon he can’t close
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| But there’s me racing right along
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| The jukebox jester, stuck on the same song
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| A mouthful of lies, a head full of holes
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| Until I got worried
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| And saw the life I could lead
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| If I backed up off that rope
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| And let the ground come to me
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| Steady under my knees
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| I let my anger burn into hope
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| I asked for perspective, and it untied my hands
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| I see the role I played. |
| I chose my own way
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| I can’t blame you for that
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| So when you’re sorry
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| And one day you will be
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| I wish you all the best
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| And hope that you drop softly
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| And it don’t end too badly
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| And your raging head can finally rest
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| And you can be honest and rescue yourself
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| But I’ll walk my own road. |
| I’ll go where you won’t go
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| You won’t put me through hell
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| Cause now I see through you. |
| Believe what you need to
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| Go haunt someone else |