| What do these marching orders mean?
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| Some hackneyed fairy tale I’d move outta their dreams
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| It’s what they do
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| Stepping to
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| Marching ten paces in front of you
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| Let’s put this countdown clock away
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| Unfinished parts of the death ray on the lawn
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| Let them rust, turn to dust
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| What the heart can’t imagine we’ll trust
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| They
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| They say we can’t make this stuff up,
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| But what else could we make?
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| What do these marching orders say?
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| Spelled out in loud forgotten language, they leave
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| The voice wrecked; |
| don’t connect
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| What the fuse was put there to protect
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| They
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| They say we can’t make this stuff up,
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| But what else could we make?
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| Come on, really lose your voice.
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| Come on, really lose it.
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| They
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| They say we can’t make this stuff up,
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| But what else could we make?
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| No, your marching orders stay
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| Always despise them, anyway,
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| So hell no, it won’t go |