| Hey, quit trying to fan the flames
|
| Let the embers settle in
|
| Cause nothing gold can stay
|
| But you can always spray paint it again
|
| Forever hide the shame of your stifled creativity
|
| Smoke your life down to the filter
|
| Til you’re coming close to blowing smoke
|
| So recognize your ghost is running out of rope
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| Say it now or hold your peace
|
| Feel it bounce around your brain
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| What makes the suffering sweet
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| Is the insurmountable pain
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| Dried up and obsolete
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| Your ugly pride can’t exactly abstain
|
| Smoke your life down to the filter
|
| 'til you’re coming close to blowing smoke
|
| So recognize your ghost is running out of rope
|
| Now drop the anchor through
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| The floorboards of your boat
|
| And let the crashing waves
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| Fill your lungs 'til you choke, you choke, you choke
|
| Coming close to blowing smoke
|
| So recognize your ghost is running out of rope
|
| Now drop the anchor through
|
| The floorboards of your boat
|
| And let the crashing waves
|
| Fill your lungs 'til you choke, you choke, you choke |