| When you commissioned your cage
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| Indoor living became all the rage
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| Landscapers, hustlers, and gents
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| Offered to pay at least half your rent
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| Pale pink and punished in style
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| Tuning in each time your satelite smiles
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| Well your lips don’t move
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| But my ears are burning
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| And my blush is proof
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| That from your window you sing
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| Some unbelievable things
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| A queen with several kings
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| And I: a bird without wings
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| Now lying flat on your back
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| Counting cashmere sweaters, counting cracks
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| And all those slippery gents
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| Have found their way into your air conditioning vents
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| Your signal fizzles and fades
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| Still bouncing off the stars but silent in space
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| And your lips don’t move
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| But my ears are burning
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| And my blush is proof
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| That from your window you sing
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| Some unbelievable things
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| A queen with several kings
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| And I: a bird without wings
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| And I’m starting to believe
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| And I’m starting to believe
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| And I’m starting to believe
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| And from your window you sing
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| Some unbelievable things
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| A queen with several kings
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| And I: a bird without wings
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| Let me pin these on you |