| Experiments and tests have shown
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| We sleep sounder when alone
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| If unentangled there we lie
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| Then it’s easier to kind of die
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| For though there’s pulse and shallow breath
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| Falling asleep’s a kind of death
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| And I suppose death has it’s charms
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| When it’s done in someone else arms
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| You bet someone the reason why
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| Is when you cum you kind of die
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| Who can say what you two did?
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| Made some whoopee or a kid
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| Bed’s much more than just one thing
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| It’s God and boat and boxing ring
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| It’s desert island, mountain top
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| It’s cradle, grave, and final stop
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| A bed of nails, a bed of coals
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| Pierce your skin, now see your souls
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| A bed of greens, the ocean bed
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| Go to sleep, go on, play dead
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| And we all a lullaby
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| A little prayer before we die
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| And when we die where do we go?
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| Is it up above or else down below?
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| It’s back and forth, or so it seems
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| If after-life is like our dreams
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| Some say this life’s a dream instead
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| I say real life begins in bed |