| Allow me a moment to explain
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| While you were sleeping the ocean wasn’t drained
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| But transformed
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| It yawned and groaned as it rose from its bed
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| It stretched; |
| diluted and extended its head
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| And took corporeal form
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| At least in part at first
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| But when it encountered the Earth
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| It took a deep draw in, extended its arms, and leapt into the sky
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| It took wing over mountain and rode on the wind
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| It traveled the cities but as the sun dimmed
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| It grew fat and it cursed at the earth
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| In a thunderous rage
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| And a display of bright lights
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| It spat and began to give birth
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| The bloom is off the rose, at least for me
|
| Dogs like me can bark, but the caravan moves on
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| When you finally awoke, a new ocean had formed
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| Through the clamorous night, through the magnificent storm
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| It fell from the sky to reform and preform
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| Its endless endeavor in its worn uniform
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| The Sun, the Moon, the Earth, and the shore
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| Tired metaphors played out before your eyes
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| Sedation, satisfaction
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| But to be satisfied and entertained
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| Without any source of intellectual gain
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| Seems to be what’s in fashion
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| Interpret the meaning
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| To mean whatever you want it to be
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| I’ve heard these same words fall from my own lips
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| It falls flat and I question its value
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| It falls flat and I question its worth
|
| In a thunderous rage
|
| And a display of bright lights
|
| It spat and began to give birth
|
| The bloom is off the rose, at least for me
|
| Dogs like me can bark, but the caravan moves on
|
| Better to light a candle than curse at the darkness
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| This is the confluence of narrative and naivety
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| Swallowing a stream of lies and empty poetry
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| You don’t have to be the one to tell me
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| You don’t have to be the one to let me down
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| A catchy way of saying nothing
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| But a narrative seems to allude to something more
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| With a purpose and a real direction
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| But they’re just words punched in a template
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| The same mistakes we made before
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| I, for one, am fucking tired
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| Of conceptions that bring nothing new from the womb
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| But if every story is the same
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| Then the rose has truly lost its bloom
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| Can you sing it back to me?
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| I can’t relate to this
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| I can’t relate
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| Maybe it’s your preference
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| But I can’t relate
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| «Where is the problem? |
| We’re entertained.»
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| My problem’s the consistency with every concept made
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| Don’t just tell me a story
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| What does it convey?
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| «Where is the problem? |
| We’re entertained.»
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| I want to feel something more than just betrayed
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| You are the problem
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| I am the problem
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| Are you satisfied?
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| Don’t be satisfied |