| Well I say «It's just smoke»
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| So you say «It's the hair of ghosts»
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| So I say «it's the white hair of Poseidon Ebbing in the tide in some dead sea»
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| So you say «It's some Shroud of Turin and the son wore it white and the earth
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| wore it thin or the son wore it white and his faith wore it thin!»
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| Unraveling heavenward
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| Oh it saddled two tiny birds
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| Or other such winged things
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| Either way they are struggling
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| Either way they are miniature
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| And either way they’re invisible
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| But either way they’re confused as hell would have them
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| La-da-da-da-da-da-da-da
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| And the pattern of flight is chaotic and blind
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| But it’s right cause chaos is yours and it’s mine
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| And chaos is luck, and like love, and love blind
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| Ba-da-da-ba-da-da-ba-da-da-oh
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| Oh, the pattern of flight is chaotic and blind
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| but it’s right cause chaos is yours and chaos is mine, mine, mine, mine
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| And chaos is love and they say love is blind but they’re subject to hate us
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| Just like the rest of us
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| Oh but just like the rest of us
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| They need the rest of us to stay alive
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| So that’s not where confusion lies
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| That’s not where allusions to the fact that the truth is just smoke in your eyes
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| It does lie, oh confusion lies in which other wicked thing to lie with
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| Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
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| Confusion lies in which other wicked thing to lie with
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| Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
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| And if chaos is yours and chaos is mine
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| And chaos is love and they say love is blind
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| So I say, «Oh I see now, it’s just smoke»
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| So I say, «Oh I see now, it’s just smoke»
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| Oh I say, «Oh I see now, it’s just smoke»
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| Oh I say, «Oh I see now, it’s just smoke» |