| Sounds of methylated muttering…
|
| Hand streched out for a mark
|
| The mark of death stamped over
|
| One eye-two flies wrestle on his raincoat…
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| Copulating to the muzak
|
| But the people just fly by…
|
| Finds a sanitary sanctury…
|
| Food stretched beneath the door
|
| Takes a drag on a fag and it’s good 'cos it’s menthol
|
| He throws back his head and he dreams of the mountains
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| He’s inhaling to the muzak
|
| People will fly by…
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| And as inebriated evening spat a path for nausea night;
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| The lights went out with smothered curses
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| A young nurse cried — a cop cried with her
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| Cops are dating to the muzak
|
| And the people just fly by…
|
| He got an apathetic epitaph…
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| There’s no name on the headstone
|
| They buried him on Tuesday
|
| It rained. |
| No one came…
|
| Busy listening to the muzak
|
| People will fly by…
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| Bye bye, world |