| I start before you pick up
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| I’m asking for permission
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| To record some songs about us
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| To recall some things that happened
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| You offer helpful context
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| It didn’t take place on an island
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| I say you need to separate
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| The ill from the illness
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| You tell me it’s not so simple
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| Depression is part and parcel
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| And you’re sick to death of cures
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| For you as a person
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| I say that’s probably truth
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| But I could’ve used some clues
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| Long before I got invested
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| You reply, «I telegraphed it»
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| Deal in tears since I met you
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| And that’s not a romantic gesture
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| True mess, that’s my nature
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| And I guess that’s what thrilled you
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| You wanted it 'til it bit you
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| Then you ran like it chased you
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| I say I have a nature too
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| And you end with, «Yes, I know.»
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| Sickness excites
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| Until it’s close enough to bite
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| There’s distinct appeal
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| Until you’re beneath its wheels
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| A true attraction
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| Until what comes after |