| On Monday night, I escape my cell
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| A peculiar hell, I had built myself
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| I stumbled out into the high street rush
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| All I’m craving is a human touch
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| Cause I’ve been trying to get my head screwed tight
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| Away from people, away from life
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| I don’t know what kind of world I’m from
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| But it’s not this one, no it’s not this one
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Well I see flesh reacting
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| I hear skin & bones
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| I see bodies & bodies & fingers on phones
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| Digits digitizing singing
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| Knuckles on ass
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| I feel like I look out at the world like through glass
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| Untile one day our eyes, meet and combine
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| Two bodies, two hosts gracelessly intertwine
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| There’s something so strange about feeling alive
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| There’s somebody home and they’re deathly deprived of
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| Human contact
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| I see a hand reach out
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| I see a leg reach out
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| I see a limb reach out
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| But I know it’s nothing to die for, die for
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| Give me your hand, reach out
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| Give me your hand, reach out
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| Give me your hand, reach out
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| Won’t you give me something to die for
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| Something to feel alive
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| Something to feel alive
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| Something to feel alive
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| Something to feel alive
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| Something to feel alive
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| Something to feel alive
|
| Something to feel alive
|
| Something to feel alive
|
| Something to feel alive |