| Mornings come with birds and kids
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| Talking to themselves for some reason
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| And wrists can vibrate at a comfortable rate
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| To get you to sleep or keep you from it
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| He wears that hole in his shoe with real grace
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| And if he wears it right he
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| Just might have a leg up on everyone
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| Bet it’d feel so good
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| They’d all watch him tie those gold laces
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| And they become things that he can’t stop tying
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| Becoming grateful and bitter for his brand new handicap and
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| Holding the ropes that he’d been thrust upon
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| Can’t get his hands off his feet to enjoy the walk
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| Now it’s tough to tell if ever he was real
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| Just knows the crunch of his new boots crushes special snowflakes
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| Choke the evil out
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| Smoke the evil out
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| Stroke the evil out
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| Choke the evil out
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| It’s satisfied
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| By removing chunks of dead skin
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| It turns it on the same way
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| Mmm mmm mmm
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| Couldn’t keep a straight face staring at it
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| It satisfies
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| It turns me on
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| With that mirror you forced yourself to stare
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| And you stink of the holiness they soaked you in
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| It ends up driving you bored and drinking you numb
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| So special for a minute though
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| He wears that hole in his shoe with the same face
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| And if he wears it right he
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| Just might have to keep that leg up on everyone
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| It feels so good
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| They’d all watch him tie those gold laces
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| And they become things that he can’t stop tying
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| Gracefully bitter for that old handicap and
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| Gripping the ropes that he holds himself on
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| Feet paraded on high as his hands take the walk
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| Tough to tell if ever he was real
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| Just knows the crunch of those old boots keeps him a special snowflake |