| I was kidnapped real young by the sweet taste of love
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| Built a fondness for things that just weren’t good enough
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| I cradled the crow, always shooed off the dove
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| Which tagged me a naive son
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| So the forunate kids, yeah they left on their lights
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| And they stuck up their noses and started some fights
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| Their parents all cackled at dirt on my hands
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| While my father was slaving, my mother explained it
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| «Sometimes that’s just how it is.»
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| So my sister went kissing a maple-skinned boy
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| Finally held up her fists, said «I'm done being coy!»
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| And the neighborhood boys started buzzing with joy
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| We finally had front page news
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| Although it was sad, I couldn’t help but laugh
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| Such ridiculous hate in the hot summer sweat
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| I laid on my back, let the punk record spin
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| The stomping guitar, it was shooting out stars
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| It all went to my heart, yeah some rainbows in the dark
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| So I called up danger, my friends and some strangers
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| They stumbled and wavered, one called me his saviour
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| They slipped me the blood in the whole of the vial
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| But I didn’t feel them change
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| Then I met a man with a fist for a hand
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| Held me flat on my back, taught me how to give in Some phrases were shot, pretty roses got tossed
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| The gift of a fat-lipped grin
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| Now they’re drilling my teeth while I’m soiling sheets
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| With my lover, she’s counting the diamonds on rings
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| And even when truth doesn’t help with the sting
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| Out of no numbers, some harsh looking colour
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| You pull them out, feel they’re changed
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| No need for a thousand cranes
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| So I thank the city, the lights that it’s spinning
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| The friends that I have and the shoes we’re not shining
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| The drunk horn’s so violent, all spinning out sounds
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| But the colour’s so vibrant, the colour’s so loud
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| The newly-born crying realizing what life is In the eyes of my grandpa, the right people dying
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| The see-saw of love, its rickety bounce
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| The feeling of coming, the feeling of going
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| The mother, the child, the tame and the wild
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| The sleeping in minor, the gold leaf, the tire
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| The crooked, the straight, all the hip and the fake
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| Oh, I’m finally feeling the stitching of beautiful seams
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| Sometimes you just can’t hold back the river
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| Sometimes you just can’t hold back the river
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| Sometimes you just can’t hold back the river
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| Sometimes you just can’t hold back the river
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| Hold back the river, hold back the river, hold back the river |