| Here comes the paranoia
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| Here comes the pityful joy
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| We used to sing when we were happy
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| Like the pigs in the poke
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| My baby’s gonna take me out dancing
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| Here comes the paranoia
|
| I feel it everywhere
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| Supersonic, catatonic patterns in between despair
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| Of everything pure in this world
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| And it’s hard not to be seen
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| When you’re rushing down the stream
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| So if you hear me don’t you panic
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| It’s all swell
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| They’re going to take us away from here
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| I know the end is near
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| Here comes the paranoia
|
| Gunshots, mockery chants, pineapples, porcupines
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| And Pasadena pillows of kashmere skin
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| To make me feel all right
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| Don’t forget the tranquilizers
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| Ice cream, crackers and care
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| NyQuils, a bottle of tequila
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| And a head for my hair
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| And it’s hard not to be seen
|
| When you’re rushing down the stream
|
| So if you hear me don’t you panic
|
| It’s all swell
|
| They’re going to take us away from here
|
| I know the end is near
|
| Ready to take the blow!
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| Here comes the paranoia
|
| Lonely days of joy and laughter
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| Added up in the equation
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| I can see the substance of it all
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| Beyond the paranoia, white is turning black
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| Everytime I stare into the TV
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| Karma supernova is looking back |