| Like cigarettes light ribbons
|
| In the red light district
|
| Where they intersect like rhythms
|
| You look at life through a prism
|
| Willing to split the difference,
|
| If only for the right schism
|
| Elegance takes percision
|
| Catch flies with simple syrup,
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| Sacrifice pure vision
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| Truth is a nervous system
|
| Balanced on the precipice
|
| Of perfect wisdom
|
| Who’s gonna marry me now?
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| Or carry me out?
|
| Or stare me down?
|
| Downstairs, the fair’s letting out
|
| The affair’s getting out
|
| Who cares? |
| It’s just sound
|
| Like innocence? |
| Try prison.
|
| Like you won’t take deliverance,
|
| Whatever hole you find it in.
|
| Violence is a given
|
| From the other side of the fence,
|
| It’s just like television
|
| I’ll admit there’s been some dereliction.
|
| I’ll seek forgiveness, you get the permissions.
|
| Life’s a bit like a burn victim: we see it’s
|
| Harsh reality, and yet we prefer fiction.
|
| Like, this is nice.
|
| But is it worth it?
|
| Does it justify it’s price?
|
| Does it serve it’s worthless purpose?
|
| Will you heed your own advice?
|
| If you want to make it work
|
| It’s best to check everything twice
|
| In lieu of two new sets of eyes,
|
| Incentivize some passersby…
|
| She feels no strings inside her stomach
|
| But that doesn’t mean they’re not there
|
| Much less never were
|
| And the audiences love it Their expectations plummet
|
| I bring to mind the things she’s signed but
|
| She’s long since memorized her lines
|
| And she’s terrified in public
|
| Objectified by her subjects
|
| «Who's gonna marry me now?
|
| Where are we now? |
| You’re wearing me out.»
|
| If you want ‘em to care ten years from now,
|
| Then here’s how. |
| Shout:
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| These things are nice, but it ain’t worth it I been wasted half my life.
|
| I been trained to thing I deserve it.
|
| I’ve been dumb and deaf and blind.
|
| This ain’t right.
|
| I ain’t perfect. |
| I ain’t trying to say…
|
| Things are nice.
|
| But it ain’t worth it.
|
| It ain’t worth it.
|
| Come on. |