| Can you see what the world is?
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| It pulls you on, it tricks you that it’s always a spring morning
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| When you even say that another man’s hell could be your heaven
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| And if this is being blind and wrong, gimme more and more
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| And let me light up the hand and let me pull the truth through
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| But if the truth don’t make you happy, what will you do?
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| The truth is that I’m happy when I’m with you
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| Can you see what the truth is?
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| It’s a place where you can hide from the moldy old skeleton costume
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| And so you’re flying like a moth at the streetlight but it’s too late
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| You’re bumping wings with far too many others wearing your outfit
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| That you chose from your endless supply of reflections and self-disgust
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| And you don’t have any belief in what’s worth your love and trust
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| And you scatter your riches like a mirror ball that’s covered in dust
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| With the vain understanding that some of the light would stick
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| And invest your moth-like face with wisdom from another world
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| But instead all that shows are wrinkles
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| And a tick around your compound eyes
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| Filled with a fond history of ecstasy and alibis
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| Can you see what the world is?
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| It pulls you on, it tricks you that it’s always a Spring morning
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| But I know all you really want
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| Is to leave behind the color blue
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| And if the truth don’t make you happy, what will you do?
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| Because the truth is that I’m happy when I’m with you |