| I see the passionate who killed themselves with drink
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| Or drugs or speeding cars in order not to think
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| They must have felt like there just nothing was to do
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| Oh why hast thou murdered those who see the most in search of a true thrill or
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| clue
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| Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die, don’t die… (throughout)
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| There’s something wrong here where the best ones want to go
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| Parker, Lautreamont, Monroe they held it just to throw
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| The world away who were its grace before they left
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| To choose to have a point of view oblivious that leaves the rest of us bereft
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| There I see the piercing eyes that look through all until they see their back
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| There where any thought will think about itself and that’s the only fact
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| There a man has left just death, delerium, and drugs, or feel the lack
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| The air is cool today the time is drawing near
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| My walls are white and so’s my brain afloat in self-made fear
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| A banal feeling of the sort «I ain’t insane»
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| No fate worse than to never leave yourself and it’s as well the most repulsive
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| pain
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| The air is cool today that whistles through my ribs
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| My skull is full of sand that dribbles down upon my bib
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| I call out «Baby» but her face looks like a clock
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| Tick tock, alive, triumphant victims so surprised we can’t recover from the
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| shock
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| Me, I like a joke as much as anybody else but some are rough
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| Yeah when the joke’s on you though you’re the joker too you’ve had enough
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| Then though there is no one there, because there’s nothing there,
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| you call your bluff |