| Just because I’m absent minded doesn’t mean I have to find it
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| It’s my pity-party darling please don’t act invited
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| I sip Bacardi just to pass the time when
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| It gets me started for the clash of titans just past my eyelids
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| I’m not a downer in the kill the party market
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| But I swallowed all my pride and yet I’m still a starving artist
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| And still I’m finding parts of all my silly life departures
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| Parts of darkness are so thrilling but it’s filling my apartment
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| So please for forgive me if I overstep my boundaries
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| I keep forgetting that there’s no one left to count on me
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| At least I’m living on my own and get a founder’s fee
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| I’m out to see and drifting off that melatonin sound asleep
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| Wait up all alone just to dream away the time
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| Weight upon my collarbones don’t seem to pay no mind
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| The day the world died I didn’t even say goodbye
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| I left a love letter in a secret place to hide that said
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| I’d give concern but I’m a disconcerted immature kid
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| Insecure when I am quickly searching for a bridge to burn it
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| If I twist and turn until the blisters hurt it isn’t worth it
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| If it’s served with sense of urgency to see me binge and purge it
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| I’ve lived and learned and learned to live to misinterpret nervous twitches
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| Pistons turning hurt to bliss it’s picture perfect
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| And since I’ve learned a circus trick of inadvertent perfect-pitch
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| To skim a surface worse than this I’m in to get deserted, when I ask
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| On the day the world ends
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| A bee circles a clover
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| A fisherman mends a glimmering net
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| By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
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| And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be
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| On the day the world ends
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| Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas
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| A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn
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| Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
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| And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island
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| The voice of a violin lasts in the air
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| And leads into a starry night
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| I get less comfortable with each breath stomach full of regrets
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| Each step’s becoming part of running as a reflex
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| Pretend tell me something that relives stress
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| Sleepless I’d rather suffocate my weakness
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| I’m David Cronenberg mixed with David Lynch stir
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| David Berkowitz and a little David Fincher
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| They say I mince words that can paint a picture
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| Honest and true yes long live the new flesh
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| And I’m impatiently waiting to find a day that needs saving
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| I say the things that can make me seem crazy
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| I chase my dreams like I chase my drinks daily
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| I fall asleep to my existential woes
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| And the questions with the answers that’ll never get exposed
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| I’m not too good with the mental episodes
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| But about as sharp as it can get with pen or pencils though
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| Evidence is shown in the sentimental prose
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| Posing pros and cons to poking on this detrimental road
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| I chose to walk walk walk on sediment and stone
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| Don’t confuse my temperament as being reticent or cold
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| Just let me vent
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| And those who expected lightning and thunder
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| Are disappointed
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| And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps
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| Will not believe it is happening now
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| As long as the sun and the moon are above
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| As long as the bumblebee visits a rose
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| As long as rosy infants are born
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| No one believes it is happening now |