| The angel cries «you bastard!»
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| As we analyze the accent
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| So look out, you rock’n’rollers
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| Over forty million served
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| And that’s a record for the master
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| It stood forever after
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| So are we, are we, are we, are we facing
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| The end of all, of all the drugs we’re lacing
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| With common sense and courtesy
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| And other things we thought would be the end of us
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| But now they won’t allow us our intentions
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| Oh the mother of invention
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| It’s her pleasure to repeat with feeling
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| Are we, are we, are we, are we facing
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| The end of all the medicine we’re taking?
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| Somewhere in the system
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| There’s an open ended list
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| Of all the lies we tell
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| Unblinking, thinking
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| What could we be living?
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| Is it life
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| Or is it even in the realm of possibility?
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| You see it when you’re missing
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| Who you came to see, is this thing
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| Even on and on and on?
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| Are we, are we, are we, are we facing
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| The end of all the medicine we’re taking?
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| Are we, are we, are we, are we facing
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| The end of all the medicine we’re taking? |