| I guess we met a couple a bonafide angels
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| But they all seemed kinda fat and fatigued
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| But now we’re trying to match their mouths to the screams
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| Match their heads to their dreams
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| Everybody’s searching out the softest seat
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| All dolled up for the funeral feast
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| Everyone’s stabbing at the biggest piece
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| Clever kids kissing on a bleak retreat
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| Now I’m not really sure we were lovers
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| Or if it was just some kind of car crash
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| And now we’re trying to find a DNA match
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| To match their heads to their hats
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| Everybody’s reaching for the sharpest knife
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| Legs wide open on the opening night
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| Everybody’s bathing in the laser lights
|
| Clever kids screwing with some new device
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| Sunday morning, sidewalks flattered
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| Feverish in stylish tatters
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| Damn, this used to seem like grammar
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| I remember when it mattered
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| Can’t get over what’s transpired
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| Left home virgins, came back vampires
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| Built it out like back scratched choirs
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| Really dead or really tired
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| Everybody’s coming on their navy sheets
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| Everybody’s coming on their navy sheets
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| Everybody wants to suck on something sweet
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| Everybody’s coming on their navy sheets
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| Everybody’s coming on their navy sheets |