| Psychotherapist once claimed I had acute neurosis
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| Well, I only said a couple words and he made his diagnosis
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| He said I could say whatever I want because I never chose this
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| So I spat, grinned and I looked at him and blew him a Glasgow kiss, look out now
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| I close just one eye, and let a part of me die
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| Never too sure if it’s the truth or a lie
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| I’m not asking for your pity «Oh woe is me» sarcastically
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| I’m not losing sleep pathetically while waxing so poetically
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| But I’m waning, waning alphabetically
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| As I keep dropping bombs
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| Dropping bombs
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| Dropping bombs apologetically
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| It was a wicked whimpering Winnipeg night
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| When my tongue grew wings and took to flight
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| The thought had never crossed my mind before that moment
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| Is the truth so bent it can’t be broken?
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| My jealousy got the best of me
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| And had a conference with the rest of me
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| It said, «If this is all that’s left for me
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| Then there’s a little room for regret.»
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| Little voice
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| Little voice
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| Little voice inside my head said
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| «If you don’t regret nothing then you might as well be dead, might as well be
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| dead.»
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| So I apologize
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| Mostly to the four or five guys
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| Who stand behind me on the stage every night
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| As the mic starts to whisper
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| And the words start to blister
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| In my mouth that I know aren’t right
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| I gotta get back to who I was before my last ten years on autopilot
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| It’s the mask that quite often starts to eat into your face
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| So wear it lightly like a cap that can quickly be replaced
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| I gotta get back to who I was before my last ten years on autopilot
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| So tell me again how my life should have been before I was spineless
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| Before I gave in
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| Because everybody thinks it’s timeless… Well time’s running out
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| One thing I’ll never regret is I never shed my face |