| I hope you stay in charge of your mouth
|
| I hope you stay in charge of it
|
| When nothing’s fluid, you drink yourself through it
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| Outside, you draw, draw yourself
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| Feel the breeze
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| That’s a real thing that touches your skin
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| But memories
|
| Well, they’re not real
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| There’s nothing there
|
| Now can we visit your old house again?
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| I feel as though I’ve left instructions there
|
| Could it be that you were so small that
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| The garage room, well, they’ve pulled it down
|
| Oh, nothing’s ruined 'cause we still have the picture
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| Of dog roses and stuff for the pyre
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| Oh yeah
|
| Have you always slipped backwards
|
| Just now, I see you always slip backwards
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| Oh you, will you always slip backwards
|
| Just now, oh you always slip
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| Ooh
|
| There’s nothing there |