| Alright, I’m on Johnson Avenue in San Luis Obispo
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| And I’m five years old, or six, maybe
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| And indications that there’s something wrong with our new house
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| Trip down the wire twice daily
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| I’m in the living room watching the Watergate hearings
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| While my stepfather yells at my mother
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| Launches a glass across the room, straight at her head
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| And I dash upstairs to take cover
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| Lean in close to my little record player on the floor
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| So this is what the volume knob’s for
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| I listen to dance music
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| Dance music
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| Okay, so look, I’m 17 years old
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| And you’re the last best thing I’ve got going
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| But then the special secret sickness starts to eat through you
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| What am I supposed to do? |
| No way of knowing
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| So I follow you down your twisting alleyways
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| Find a few cul-de-sacs of my own
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| There’s only one place this road ever ends up
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| And I don’t want to die alone
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| Let me down, let me down, let me down gently
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| When the police come to get me
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| I’m listening to dance music
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| Dance music |