| I was given these hands,
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| I can make a fist with them,
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| But can’t understand
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| How to get a grip with all these people around,
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| Nothing seems to stick with them
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| They’re getting me down, and I pin them insensitive
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| And they ask me to lend them a hand,
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| I put it out but then they turn my hand down
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| Oh, why do I take these things around my little empty hands, hands?
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| My empty, empty hands, hands
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| I was given this heart, I help with it stopping
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| But I can’t help it start, start by just agreeing with the people at large,
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| are they so unappealing
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| They’re just not that smart,
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| And sometimes it’s endearing
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| But now when I ask them to lend me a hand
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| And they just look down at me like I’m some hand-me-down gown
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| Oh, why do I take these things around my little empty hands, hands?
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| My empty, empty hands, hands
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| I was given these eyes, I can’t see the truth
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| But I can feel the lies, falling through the roof
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| They’re making piles and piles, and after I deduce
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| I’d say that lies aren’t my style,
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| So it’s safe to assume that if I ask just if you’d kindly lend me a hand
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| You might just say that you do, but really not give a damn, damn, damn
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| Oh, why do I take these things around my little empty
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| Why, do I take these things around my little empty
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| Why, do I take these things around my little empty hands, hands?
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| My empty, empty hands, hands,
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| My empty, empty hands, hands,
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| Yeah |