| You’re waiting for your personal big bang
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| Waiting for your personal big bang
|
| Contemplating what you want
|
| Hating what you’ve got
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| Waiting for your personal big bang
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| Is this a good day? |
| How can you tell
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| The girl in the stupid dress is wearing it well
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| She’s making her exit, she’s leaving a scent
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| Of rainfall and corn flakes, of nights being spent
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| You keep reading the paper, keep scanning the crowd
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| All the while wondering what you’re about
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| And what is important, and whether you’re real
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| And where you are headed, and who’s at the wheel
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| You’re waiting for your personal big bang
|
| Waiting for your personal big bang
|
| Contemplating what you want
|
| Hating what you’ve got
|
| Waiting for your personal big bang
|
| You feel like pretending even when you’re not
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| What makes people peaceful? |
| What have they got?
|
| Maybe a novel, maybe a song
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| But even the first lines come out all wrong
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| Maybe be famous, maybe just hang
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| Trying to make contact, but the phone never rang
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| The movie was boring, the weather’s a drag
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| But the sun would change nothin', the heavens still sag
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| You’re waiting for your personal big bang
|
| Waiting for your personal big bang
|
| Contemplating what you want
|
| Hating what you’ve got
|
| Waiting for your personal big bang
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| Waiting, dreaming, doing absolutely nothing |