| Another obituary in the paper today
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| One more for the list of those who’ve already fallen
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| Another one of our comrades is taken down
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| Like so many others of our calling
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| We tweet our anecdotes, our commentary
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| Or we sing his songs in some sad tribute
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| While the tabloids are holding a story of kiss and tell
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| That he’s no longer able to deny or refute
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| 50,000 voices rising every time he’d sing
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| And every word he ever wrote reflecting back to him
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| How well I remember the stadiums we played
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| And the lights sweeping across a sea of 50,000 souls we’d face
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| A serious drug that you could never kick
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| Or one that you couldn’t imagine you’d ever replace
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| We flew like kites on the wings of amphetamine
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| Secured only to a bass line and a snare drum beat
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| But really what did any of it mean?
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| When there’s a higher philosophy in reflection and defeat
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| 50,000 voices rising every time he’d sing
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| And every word he ever wrote reflecting back to him
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| Still believing that old lie, the one that your own face betrays
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| Rock Stars don’t ever die, they only fade away
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| Reflecting now on my own past
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| Inside this prison I’ve made of myself
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| I’m feeling a little better today
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| Although the bathroom mirror is telling me something else
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| These lines of stress, one bloodshot eye
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| The unhealthy pallor of a troubled ghost
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| Where did I put my spectacle case?
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| I’m half blind and as deaf as any post
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| 50,000 hands are raised to a man that’s just like you and me
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| We create the gods we can and gift them immortality
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| Still believing that old lie, the one that your own face betrays
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| Rock Stars don’t ever die, they only fade away |