| They ask for more
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| What do you think this fanclub is for?
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| I slithered up each rose corridor
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| I kept a warm safe place in my core before I lost it
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| They ask for blood
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| What do you think this woman’s made of?
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| I stuck a small thin pin in my thumb
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| They dreamt a low long line to be crossed and I crossed it
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| I’m alive but a different kind of life than the way I used to be
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| I retire to a split white smile to be seen in some old, stag magazine
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| And this girl’s eyes
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| when they were roughly wrenched open I
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| could see a starry stair up your thigh
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| You hid behind your hair, oh, but I saw you smiling
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| While all these guys, all these curious sets of eyes safe behind a TV screen
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| I let them pry, pick apart and hang out to dry almost every piece of me
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| If you don’t love me, I’m sorry
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| Oh, what a trip
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| Oh, what a shimmering silver ship
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| Oh, what a hot half-life I have lived
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| Oh, and the stripes and stars how they stripped off the siding
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| When my life ripped
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| All from the part that played as a kid
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| Into the part that blazed through your lips
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| To find a warm, safe place then to sit curled up inside it
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| So here’s goodbye from the part that’s staying behind to the part that has to
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| leave
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| To the sublime lips that were never spoiled by lying to the face inside the
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| being
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| Who wasn’t me, who wasn’t me oh-no-no, she’s, she’s not me oh-oh |