| By the light of the lamp I sit to type —
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| My notes on tab at my side
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| I don’t see the sun much these days
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| A fluorescent tan covers my hide
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| How much impact shall I have this time?
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| My goal today is to reach the deadline
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| I write between the lines
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| I deal with fantasy
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| I report the facts
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| Give them to me, please
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| Ham and egg salad on white bread
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| Keeps me company on nights like this
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| A pack of mentholated cigarettes
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| Keeps my air nice and thick
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| When I write, words flow
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| Like coins from a candy box
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| Get out of my way
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| I’ve got something to say
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| The pulse is beating louder now
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| The cramps in my hands grow
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| More intense with each tik, tik
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| Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap on the keys
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| My social life is at an end
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| So it seems to be
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| Why don’t I trample on your lawn today?
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| I’ll take skies of blue, turn over skies of grey
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| I write between the lines
|
| I deal with fantasy
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| I am the pressman
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| Acknowledge me
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| Mother always told me
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| Never stray too far from home
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| The little lady said
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| «Boy, you’ll never have to be alone
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| Because
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| You build with fountain pen
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| You create the memory stain
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| You are the pressman
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| Stand up straight, boy.» |