| Part of the Landscape
|
| You didn’t lose your crown
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| It’s just melted down
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| And you mixed it up in a highball cup
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| So you drink alone in a Bucky dome
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| On a high up hill with tastes that kill
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| And you look on down
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| At an old coal town
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| It’s almost alright
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| When the sun sets right
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| But it’s a cloudy sky
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| So you can’t deny
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| It’s exactly as cold
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| And empty as it looks
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| I just can’t look
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| This past it’s everywhere I turn
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| Just crumbling, nothing left to burn
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| This rust ain’t going anywhere
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| It’s part of the landscape now
|
| It’s the color of your hair
|
| So you’ll die alone in an Eichler home
|
| And you look around at
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| A town burned down
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| Now you half-ass pray for a drop of rain
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| It’s exactly as desert dry as you’d expect
|
| What did you expect?
|
| This past it’s everywhere I turn
|
| Just crumbling, nothing left to burn
|
| This ash ain’t going anywhere
|
| It’s part of the landscape now
|
| It’s the color of my hair |