| Strange how the scale forms
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| In tiny patterns
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| On my antenna
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| And the five o’clock show, 'Allo, 'Allo
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| Brooklyn is crawling with famous people
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| I turn my vehicle beneath the river, west from south
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| Through the airwaves
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| People never read the airwaves
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| Do we only feed the airwaves
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| I really should have seen through the airwaves
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| Electric fences line our new freeway
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| Here in the half-light, the motor homes leave
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| Knee-deep in water under a pylon
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| How slow my heartbeat
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| How thin the air I’m breathing in
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| Through the airwaves
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| People never read the airwaves
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| Do we only feed the airwaves
|
| Or stamp them out at street level?
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| Airwaves, the dampness of the wind
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| The airwaves, the tension of the skin
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| The airwaves
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| Control has enabled the abandoned wires again
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| But the copper cables all rust in the acid rain
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| That flood the subway with elements of our corrosion
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| Cadled in to me, cable them to me
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| Cable them to me
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| Be in my broadcast when this is over
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| Give me your shoulder
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| I need a place to wait for morning
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| No it was nothing, some car backfiring
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| Please don’t ask questions
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| I itch all over
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| Let me sleep
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| Through the airwaves
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| People never read the airwaves
|
| Do we only feed the airwaves
|
| Or stamp them out at street level?
|
| Airwaves, the dampness of the wind
|
| The airwaves, the tension of the skin
|
| The airwaves I really should have seen through |