| One of those fucking awful black days
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| When nothing is pleasing and everything that happens
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| Is an excuse for anger
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| An outlet for emotions stockpiled
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| An arsenal. |
| An armour
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| These are the days when I hate the world
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| Hate the rich, hate the happy
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| Hate the complacent — the TV watchers
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| The beer drinkers, the satisfied ones
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| Because I know I can be all of those little hateful things
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| And then I hate myself for realizing that
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| There is no preventative directive or safe approach to living
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| We each know our own fate
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| We know from our youth how we are treated
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| How we’ll be received, how we shall end
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| These things don’t change
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| You can change your clothes
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| Change your hairstyle, your friends, cities, continents
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| But sooner or later your own self will always catch up
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| Always it waits in the wings
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| (Ideas swirl but don’t stick
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| They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield)
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| One of those rainy day car rides, my head imploding
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| The atmosphere in this car a mirror of my skull
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| Wet, damp, windows dripping and misted with cold
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| Walls of grey. |
| Nothing good on the radio, not a thought in my head
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| I know a place we can go where you’ll fall in love so hard that
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| You’ll wish you were dead
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| Let’s take life and slow it down incredibly slow
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| Frame by frame
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| The two minutes that take ten years to live out
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| Yeah, let’s do that
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| «Telephone poles like praying mantis against the sky
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| Metal arms outstretched»
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| So much land travelled, so little sense made of it
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| It doesn’t mean a thing, all this land laid out behind us
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| I’d like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while
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| I’m disgusted with petty concerns
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| Parking tickets, breakfast specials
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| Does someone just have to carry this weight?
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| Abstract topography
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| Methane covenant
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| Linear gospel
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| Asheville sales lady
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| Stygian emissary
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| Torturous lice
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| Mad Elizabeth
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| Chemotherapy bullshit
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| I know a place we can go where you’ll fall in love so hard that
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| You’ll wish you were dead
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| The light within me shines like a diamond mine
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| Like an unarmed walrus
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| Like a dead man face down on a highway
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| Like a snake eating its own tail
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| A steam turbine, frog pond
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| Too-full closets burst open in disarray
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| Soap bubbles in the sun
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| Hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list, blowjob
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| Deaths head, devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memory movements
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| The movie unpeeling, unreeling, about to begin
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| I know a place we can go where you’ll fall in love so hard that
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| You’ll wish you were dead
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| I see yr hallway, you are a dark hallway
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| I’ve hear your stairs creak
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| I can fix my mind on your 'yes' and your 'no'
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| I’ll film your face today in the sparkling canals
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| All red yellow blue green brilliance and silvered Dutch reflections
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| Racing thoughts — racing thoughts, all too real
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| Your moving so fast now, I can’t hold your image
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| This image I have of your face by the window
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| Me standing beside you, arm on your shoulder
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| A catalogue of images, flashing glimpses, then gone again
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| I am tethered to this post you’ve sunk in me
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| And every clear afternoon now I’ll think of you: up in the air
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| Twisting your heel, your knees up around me, my face in your hair
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| You scream so well, your smile so loud still rings in my ears
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| I know a place we can go where you’ll fall in love so hard that
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| You’ll wish you were dead
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| Inefficient distant tide of longing
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| Cleaning my teeth
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| Stay the course
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| Hold the wheel
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| Steer on to freedom
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| Open ALL the boxes
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| OPEN ALL the boxes
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| OPEN ALL THE BOXES
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| Times Square, midday, newspaper building, news headlines going around
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| We watch as they go (and hope for some good ones!)
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| Those tree-shadows in the park here, all whispering, shaking leaves
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| Around 6pm
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| Shadows across the cobblestones
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| Girl in front of bathroom mirror
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| She slow and careful paints her face green, mask-like
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| Like Matisse, «Portrait with Green Stripe»
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| Long shot through apartment window
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| A monologue on top but no girl in shot
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| The light within me shines like a diamond mine
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| Like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on a highway
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| Like a snake eating it’s own tail
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| A steam turbine, frog pond
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| Too-full closet burst open in disarray, soap bubbles in the sun
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| Hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list, blowjob
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| Deaths head, devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memory movements
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| The movie unpeeling, unreeling, about to begin
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| That was great by me
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| Yeah? |
| Mine were alright. |
| Wasn’t my best one but who cares?
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| That’s the spirit |