| As subtle as an earthquake I know,
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| My mistakes were made for you.
|
| And in the back-room of a bad dream she came,
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| And whisked me away, enthused
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| And it’s as solid as a rock, rolling down a hill
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| The fact is that it probably will, hit something
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| On the hazardous terrain
|
| And we’re just following the flock, round and in-between
|
| Before we’re smashed to smithereens, like they were
|
| And we scrambled from the blame
|
| and it’s the fame that put words in her mouth, she couldn’t help but spit them
|
| out.
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| Innocence and arrogance intwined
|
| In the filthiest of minds
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| She was spitting on her birthday, and now
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| A face in the crowd, she’s not
|
| I suspect that now forever, the shape, she came to escape
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| Is forgot.
|
| And it’s a lot to ask her not to sting, and give her less than everything
|
| Around your guilty conscience she will wind
|
| And we’re just following the flock, round and in-between
|
| Before we’re smashed to smithereens, like they were
|
| And we scrambled from the blame
|
| and it’s the fame that put words in her mouth, she couldn’t help but spit them
|
| out,
|
| Around your guilty conscience she will wind.
|
| And it’s a lot to ask her not to sting, and give her less than everything,
|
| Innocence and arrogance intwined |