| How does it feel to have enough?
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| Is it like washing your hands, elbow deep in the tub —
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| You take soap and water, take hand one and two
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| Rub them together, and at some point you’re through?
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| But that’s not even true, the dirt never comes off —
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| You can wash them forever, and it’s never enough
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| My hands are filthy — that’s nothing new —
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| But I haven’t even started with you
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| Is it like when your friends tell you you’ve had enough —
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| They take you aside, all grave and serious?
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| Oh, at the time, you swear they are wrong —
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| How can you keep drowning with nothing to drown on?
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| But you wake up the next day, and the sun is too bright
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| And your skull is too small, and you know they were right
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| I can’t think or talk straight — that’s nothing new —
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| But I haven’t even started with you
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| How does it feel to have enough?
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| To know that you’re done? |
| To know you’re all filled up?
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| How does it feel to have enough?
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| Is it this loud? |
| Or this loud? |
| Should I keep turning it up?
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| Till your ears start to bleed — till the neighbors complain —
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| Till I get what I need — till you’re screaming my name
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| How does it feel? |
| God, I wish I knew
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| I haven’t even started with you |