| Roping the beast as we’re crushed underfoot
|
| As we’re tied to our backs, as our oxygen’s cut
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| What the hell were we thinking when we went from the gut?
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| Mix up the signals, confuse the transmission
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| We’re licking our wounds and arousing suspicion
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| But I’ll paste on a smooth face — what the hell’s a clean break?
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| Bring out your hooks again
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| It’s some bitter pill to swallow
|
| Where’s the sidewalk end?
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| You’d better start talking…
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| You threw a fit when they ransacked your fortress
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| Well what can I do when I’m locked in your hope chest?
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| You take the guess work out of making a new mess
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| I cocked an ear to the traffic outside
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| I wondered what it would be like to fly
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| But I’ll paste on a smooth face — what the fuck is a clean break?
|
| Bring out your hooks again
|
| It’s some bitter pill to swallow
|
| Where’s the sidewalk end?
|
| You’d better start talking…
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| Be a dear, fetch the razor. |
| It’s time to cut me loose again
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| In a sense innocence is slipping through the cracks again |