| With you, I can’t get by
|
| As mothers move in private quarters
|
| Pushed atop the ledge with the wise guys
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| They’re searching for that stone
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| Stuck to the bottom
|
| Forced to fire the torch on the fourth of July
|
| And though it’s only momentary
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| I have what I want
|
| I leave our portrait fragmentary
|
| I have what I want
|
| I’ve seen you comb the queue
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| Illicit to drain the big blue sky
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| A fracture on the face of mercurial birth
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| A vine burst through the curb
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| You never wake up
|
| No matter how much I think it’s worth
|
| And though it’s only momentary
|
| I have what I want
|
| I leave our portrait fragmentary
|
| I have what I want
|
| Our stunts are regressing, we’re naked and boring
|
| Let’s take it all back, I’m taking it back
|
| Taking it back, I’m taking it
|
| Taking it back, I’m taking it
|
| Taking it back, I’m taking it
|
| Taking it back, I’m taking it back
|
| Admission is a chore
|
| A cog inside the spinning wheel
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| That spits up as it turns near the earth’s core
|
| Who has the city key?
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| I’ll never wake up
|
| Slam my swollen fist into the door
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| Into the door
|
| Into the door
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| Into the door |