| I’m sitting here, in the abandoned brain,
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| Waiting for take off in it.
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| They says its never going to work again,
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| But I can spare a few minutes.
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| Been here before, in the abandoned brain,
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| There’s flowers on all the controls.
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| The tape keeps telling me again and again,
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| That I’m the keeper of souls.
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| The wind blows hard, on the abandoned brain,
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| But there’s nobody thinking at all.
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| The hyperthalamus is open to the rain,
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| And the leaves sweep in to the hall.
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| There’s no one else, in the abandoned brain,
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| But that’s not necessarily bad.
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| It feeds on itself and its not insane,
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| This brains too old to go mad.
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| Roses bloom, in the abandoned brain,
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| And thoughts run wild on the floor;
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| Like a headless corpse, a derailed train,
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| Who could ask for anything more?
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| I’m sitting here, in the abandoned brain,
|
| Waiting for take off in it.
|
| They say its never going to work again,
|
| But I can spare a few minutes. |