| Traveled boots, they fit right
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| Leather creased by steps since I lose squalor
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| Aged like wine but still there’s a hum
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| Climbing midway up the map
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| Other pavement, dress school slacks
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| Sneers remind me here that still there’s a hum
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| Turn it over, pour out the cup
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| You see the bottom, you’ve got enough
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| Descend, descend, it’s the way
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| Like copper in a coffee tin
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| Worthless though in palaces
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| Water plus vitamins and still there’s a hum
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| Edit clear of webs and vines
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| Real ambition can’t be defined
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| Cliché but, never mind, still there’s a hum
|
| Turn it over, pour out the cup
|
| You see the bottom, you’ve got enough
|
| Descend, descend, descend, descend, it’s the way
|
| Turn it over, pour out the cup
|
| You see the bottom, you’ve got enough
|
| Descend, descend, descend, descend
|
| Descend, descend, descend, descend
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| Descend, descend |