| Before you share your manifest
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| As a contagious sore
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| I’ll play the urban pessimist
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| You’re rotten to the deepest core
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| It’s not a vision in your eyes
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| As just another brain cell dies
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| A deadbeat nation with no guide
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| Hysterical peace-keeping whores
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| You little barefoot busy bee
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| You speak of brave new love
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| You preach of turning back to basics
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| But there’s a laptop in your lap
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| You’ll change the world with tribal dances
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| And a multy-story modern Zen
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| What makes you thing you’ll save the day?
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| All that you do is second hand
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| The stench of change that makes no change
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| No change at all!
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| I must confess with no regrets
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| I cannot wait to watch your fall!
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| Buried by the light — that swept this modern age Rome
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| Buried by the light — funeral pyre of what I called home
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| So now you say you’ve traveled far
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| With lots of cash and time to kill
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| With meanings hidden in a jar
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| Messiahs made of little pills
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| You think you are the throne’s redemption
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| Where there’s no fear, there are no questions
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| You hold the keys of misconception
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| That all you saw was real
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| Rebel as much as they allow
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| When time is right, you’ll break your vows
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| Become your parents anyhow
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| And the mediocrity that they endow |