| And I haven’t asked for much since I met her
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| Some courage and maybe some heart
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| But Jupiter, please, will you raise your fists
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| And mend all that keeps us apart?
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| There’s the thing with her father, the thing with me broken
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| Her new jealous ex and the press
|
| And each of them not much worse than the other
|
| But still pretty bad nonetheless
|
| 'Cause there are spiders under my skin when she’s not around
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| And there are spiders creeping 'round next to organs I need
|
| And there are spiders under my skin when she’s not next to me
|
| And there are spiders breeding armies
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| Happily tethered to their funny spouses
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| With drooling babies on the way
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| With bright colored sweaters that grow in the dark
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| Can’t you make us be more like them?
|
| There’s the thing with her girlfriends
|
| The whole feeling nothing, the geography of it all
|
| And each of them not much worse than the other
|
| But still pretty bad all in all
|
| And there are spiders under my skin when she’s not around
|
| And there are spiders creeping 'round next to organs I need
|
| And there are spiders under my skin when she’s not next to me
|
| And there are spiders breeding armies |