| Inked up temptress in a see through dress
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| Sipping pink umbrella drinks in the swell of strings before the tempest come
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| I met her at the multiplex
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| Tried to catch her with a faulty net
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| Acted like I let her go
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| Then I wrote a letter home
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| Mourning all the beauty in my past that I would never know again
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| In the center fold, I spit, giving up the last bit of her I had to give
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| Flickering kiss ‘ Ravenous lips on a salty neck
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| Yet, with all due respect to the sentences
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| I could never end ‘em so I sent ‘em where the skeptics live
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| Bottled at the bottom of river with the messages
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| Lesson is, objects of affection turn to fetishes quick
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| Awkward in the dark then shark fin flinch
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| Blood slick in the water
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| Caught a whiff
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| Lifted up a mirror
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| Aimed it at her softer parts
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| Just another trick that I borrowed from Oliver Hart
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| Left the theater with a knee jerk
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| Reaction to the caption saying Samson you don’t need her
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| Years later and I’m blissfully bald
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| But every now and then I get a glimpse of what it’s like when pillars fall
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| [homesick feedback reeling
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| Tin can cut string taunt red calls from last evening]
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| No bottom to the feeling
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| Merciless bent space
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| It hurts that it hurts to see her face
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| In the depth of the pain one wave rippling intricate shapes
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| So complicated a simple brain would be insane to be sane
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| When did it start?
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| How does it stop?
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| Glad to know I’m doing all of this for nothing
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| I hate how you don’t know how much I hate how you don’t know
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| How beautiful I think you don’t think you are
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| I hate how you don’t know how much I hate how you don’t know
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| How beautiful I think you don’t think you are
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| Whatever I was cracked up to be might’ve sucked to me
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| So I cracked myself up
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| Whether or not anyone else thought it was funny
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| Touchy feely sensitive scum of the mother earthlings
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| Depressed by the wonderful number the caged bird sings
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| Surfs up on that vanishing coastline. |
| Man who is post-prime
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| Denies the damages though he’s covered in bandages
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| The whole time
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| Manages to co-sign the next up and coming act
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| Depletes the gold mine front to back
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| Sucking blood and pocketing cash
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| Under the table
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| Over the heads of the gullible youth director collective
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| No test of leadership, no truth detector
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| Attempting to resist the transition
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| From playfully crazy to plain old crazy
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| Just break the mold maybe
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| I can’t hold your baby, I already told the lady this
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| But if they overpay me, I’ll bankroll your laziness
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| I’ve gotta get an alias that’s different. |
| Get a new face
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| And finally fix the zipper on my suitcase
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| Skip to my Lou Farigno
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| As I walk down this dusty road with ripped jeans
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| Big dreams & inflatable pillow
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| A brillo notepad for rough sketches and love letters
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| For faux pas fashionistas with a fascination for ugly sweaters
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| Correspondence sent directly from the trenches
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| So it might not reach you til after I’ve served my sentence
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| If you happen to be married I’ll be happy to kill him for a small fee
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| Signed, yours forever and always
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| Paulie |