| the skyshine shown and she keeps shining.
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| i glow in the shelter like a loving television
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| still dreaming of pussy as the rain runs out come spring of '97
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| cut to morning in a high school
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| an out of body peter sellers pins a note to a coca cola tombstone
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| in the junkyard mess hall with his switchblade,
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| he swipes pad locks, lucky charms, field dreams, sandwiches, and sun
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| right from under the flashlight noses of the newer model 1980 babies
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| and the ape-like med-head wife go getters…
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| policy shift, still he can live with the fish,
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| poison the roots, there’s still the college girl moon,
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| heart-shaped wheels roll no matter what sunday,
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| it’s always a good time to scream at your bedroom.
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| boys and girls ice skate gland in gland
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| until the rink finally splits in two
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| like souls of vietnam so and so’s
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| who never made it to canada…
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| sellers chase the sublime,
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| let sellers chase the sublime
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| in cellars chase the sublime. |