| I’ll make a reckless prediction
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| I’ll still be in the kitchen
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| When the lights come on
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| I think we’ll probably be good
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| If stuff is still where it stood
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| When the lights come on
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| We won’t remember each other
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| But we’ll probably recover
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| Unless everyone’s gone
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| It might be too soon to say this
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| But I think that we may just
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| See the lights come on
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| See I’ve been picturing
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| Diagrams of master plans
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| I taught myself to draw in the dust
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| With what remains of my left hand
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| And from what I can tell
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| I’ll be no more than a shell
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| Or an automaton
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| But we’ll be laughing and shit
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| It will have been worth it
|
| When the lights come on
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| Unless we chicken out again
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| Which is exactly how we ended up in here
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| Our guard was down, we were disarmed
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| They tampered with the smoke alarm
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| There won’t be any more trouble
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| You’ll be dragged from the rubble
|
| When the lights come on
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| And I’ll be looking so great
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| I will have lost some weight
|
| When the lights come on
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| We will be growing mustaches
|
| Once we’re raised from the ashes
|
| When the lights come on
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| We’ll be encased in gold
|
| Desiccated and old
|
| When the lights come on
|
| See I’ve been picturing
|
| Diagrams of master plans
|
| I taught myself to draw in the dust
|
| With what remains of my left hand
|
| And from what I can tell
|
| Groping around, there’s something else
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| I feel a face, I feel a pulse
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| I think I’m
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| Tripping
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| Something’s got me by the hair
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| Let’s table this discussion
|
| Until my concussion
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| On the bottom stair
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| Unless I pass out once again
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| And find the bandage where my kidney used to be
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| Knocked over lamp, some broken plates
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| Prescription pads for opiates |