| I got a haircut in Norway
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| When all the weight started pulling me down
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| Smelling like a waterlogged wet dog
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| Ain’t no way to travel
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| But as soon as I chopped it all off
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| It just grew back, thick and brown
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| I keep tugging on the thread
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| Hoping it all might come unraveled
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| I keep trying to throw it all away
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| But it comes right back around
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| They come backstage and on my bus
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| Pretending to be my friend
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| Shaking hands behind grandstands
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| All wearing the same old grin
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| Oh, but none of them bother knocking
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| Oh, they all just come on in
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| Asking me what all my songs mean
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| Wonderin' if they’re all about them
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| Mercury must be in retrograde again
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| But at least it’s not just hangin' around pretendin' to be my friend
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| Oh, the road to Hell is paved with cruel intention
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| If it’s not nuclear war, it’s gonna be a divine intervention
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| Living the dream makes a man wanna scream
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| Light a match and burn it all down
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| Head back home to the mountain
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| Far away from the pull
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| Of all the journalists and sycophants wielding their brands
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| And all the traveling trophies and award show stands
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| And all the haters wishing they was in my band
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| Sorry boys, the bus is plumb full
|
| Mercury must be in retrograde again
|
| But at least it’s not just hangin' around pretendin' to be my friend
|
| Oh, the road to Hell is paved with cruel intention
|
| If it’s not nuclear war, it’s gonna be a divine intervention
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| And there’s nothing for me outside this hotel room
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| But another letdown, lonely day
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| Tour is almost over, and I’ll be home soon
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| And it’s all been done two or three times anyway
|
| Mercury must be in retrograde again
|
| But at least it’s not just hangin' around pretendin' to be my friend
|
| Oh, the road to Hell is paved with cruel intention
|
| If it’s not nuclear war, it’s gonna be a divine intervention |