| A frozen lake is solved
|
| By all means…
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| Its The slowing down of your brain
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| Around that certain sort of math
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| The result…
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| Completely destroys the snow globe
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| Which results in…
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| One calling for an Eyewash and hand replacement
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| I suppose I’ve been brave
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| The highly unlikly rock and all its valves
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| Are roped off
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| As is the would find luggage dilemma
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| Of love and money
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| I know now the problem
|
| Lies in no one wire of the human heart
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| No none of its 12 plugs can be pulled
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| To tear all veins in one fell swoop
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| Like wall socket roots
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| Through their smooth calm sheets of plaster skin
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| And much thinking makes so little of time
|
| And of lives
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| Whats left are fires beating off of faces
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| Spreading in the heat left after beards
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| The bright red skeleton of a cynic
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| And the fine line differences in skin consistancy
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| However so slightly permanent
|
| These are the things that will never be songs…
|
| Never more wet concrete for song street…
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| This is not more wet concrete for new song street…
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| Not poor silked concrete for beneath lord songs soft feet…
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| Not poor song meat…
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| Not song not more raw wheat…
|
| For the poem popes and sing job’s
|
| Mastering the fast mean walks of big show street…
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| Fast |