| Get lost in the dead of the night where once I lived on Grand Street
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| Deaf from Chucks on bones crushed white
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| New Brooklyn bows before me
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| Soak it all in and let it run deep
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| Glory in delusion
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| I can picture us
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| Waltz in the ruins of this wilted gray contusion
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| Sometimes, when she’s far and I’m drunk
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| I clutch her like a compass
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| Never thought of being anything but quixotic and self-conscious
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| Some ache to guide your hand, to pull out of the socket
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| I’m the cricket that lets you burn while I smolder in your pocket
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| You’re in my fat
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| I store you there to keep me warm in frigid air
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| I need my smack
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| You’re in my veins
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| Free the Jew they kept in chains
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| I’m suffused with all you are
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| I’ll always be a bastard star
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| You’re in my heart
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| You’re in my heart
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| Could it be in our wank of shame that we’re clutching the same member?
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| Don’t you ever pretend to smile and find you’ve actually done it?
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| Now you’re informed; |
| we kinda run it and that’s just fine
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| Plummet beak-first into acid washed entitlement
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| You might just find a socialist feeding off the fumes of an aging pop-punk
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| vocalist
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| So destroy our first LP if you know what’s good for me
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| You’re in my fat
|
| I store you there to keep me warm in frigid air
|
| I need my smack
|
| You’re in my veins
|
| Free the Jew they kept in chains
|
| I’m suffused with all you are
|
| I’ll always be a bastard star
|
| You’re in my heart
|
| You’re in my heart |