| You locked me in the bathroom long ago, you bloody bastard
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| But sadness never floods a house where wine flows, I’m here playing
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| Lute Score, the video game where you hit the high score by composing
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| Lute Scores, and shooting off the pop up panda’s head
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| Shooting off the pop up panda’s head
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| When the monster attacked the city everyone was just too busy making money
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| To give a shit, some fled, most kept on doing what they were doing
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| In Samarkand Uzbekistan the Vietnamese chiropodist
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| Extracted a glass of clear green tea from his samovar
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| Extracted green tea from his samovar
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| A ghost tended two moss gardens, one marshmallow, one ectoplasm
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| Something to do with the free bamboo, something to do with the snow
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| Green plants, folk and fairy tales from German Africa
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| Swamp leg, an inner lightbulb, tragedy on stilts
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| An inner lightbulb, tragedy on stilts
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| Pins and needles, shoes and stockings, aches and pains, and vermin
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| Panthers waging war on cranes and storks
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| A battered, bandaged head climbs up an uphill landscape
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| A 200 foot wingspan black butterfly in space
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| 200 foot black butterfly in space
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| An eager red-eyed dog licks red raw meat from an open ash can
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| Lamps, chairs, books, lightbulbs, cherries from a knife
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| A Decca-Deram furbelow, master of the bungalow
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| Writing with the white ink, the white ink of life
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| Lute Score, the video game where you hit the high score by composing
|
| Lute Scores, and shooting off the pop up panda’s head
|
| Shooting off the pop up panda’s head |