| Speak of the handsome devil, oh when will I wear you like and hand in a glove?
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| You smother me, smother me, smother me in Morrissey like all the pretty ones
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| have done before
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| And writing songs for you in the backyard of another house show
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| When all I wanna do is sleep and all my friends wanna do is see me fall
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| Watching music television with the sound down
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| It’s technicolor rainbows and I think it’s kicking in now
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| And there’s more confidential information on mainstream radio stations
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| Someone famous just got caught
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| Someone famous just got a divorce
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| So I walk into my front door and I’m going in swinging
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| I’m going down drinking like I swore that I wouldn’t
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| And I’ll come in singing and I’ll walk out screaming
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| Because no one gives a fuck anymore, yeah no one cares about this but you
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| And I need a break from the city again
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| So I’ll play in backwater pubs in no-name towns, pass out in your garden shed
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| And last night I slept in the country estate of a pretty girl’s parents' in a
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| single bed with my best friend
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| And I woke up to air so clean and so fresh that I didn’t dare light a cigarette
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| As much as I love being near you
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| My favourite thing to do is to leave
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| If you drive me home
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| I would’ve sat with you by the fire until my eyes closed
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| I’d be happy if American Spirit was nothing more than a brand of cigarettes
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| And there are no more metaphors, this hunger feels like hunger
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| A greedy, filthy need from the very pit of me
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| And am I the only one holding on by skin of my teeth
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| But I don’t eat meat, so I haven’t got very strong teeth
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| By the skin of my teeth, by the skin of my teeth
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| By the holes in the floor, the water that drips in through the cracks in the
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| ceiling
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| By the mice in the walls, from the fingernail gash in the doorframe
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| From the blackened handprints on the south east facing wall
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| Where I sit and I watch the heavy rain fall
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| Yeah I sit and I watch Smith Street drown |