| Pain works on a sliding scale
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| So does pleasure in a candy jail
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| True love doesn’t come around anymore than fate allows
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| On a Monday in Fort Lauderdale
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| I came all this way to see your grave
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| To see your life as writ in paraphrase
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| «I have tried thee,» it is written, «in the furnace of affliction»
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| This is what you couldn’t face
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| Life in a candy jail
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| With peppermint bars
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| Peanut-brittle bunk beds
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| And marshmallow walls
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| Where the guards are gracious
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| And the grounds are grand
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| And the warden keeps the data on your favorite brands
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| Jelly beans and cookie dough
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| Country restroom on the radio
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| I got a number on my name
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| It’s hard to rise above the shame
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| I’m a branded man made in the mold
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| These terms engulf the waking mind
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| Like cherry, grape and lemon-lime
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| Like candy corn and licorice
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| Like bubble-gum and Swedish fish
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| It happens to me all the time
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| Living in a candy jail
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| With peppermint bars
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| Peanut-brittle bunk beds
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| And marshmallow walls
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| Where the guards are gracious
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| And the grounds are grand
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| And the warden really listens
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| And he understands |