| Two black lines streaming out like a guidance line.
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| Put one foot on the road now where the sybourgs (?) are driving,
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| With the WD-40 in their veins-
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| your screeching little brakes complains.
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| With the briefcase empty and the holes in my shoes,
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| I try to stay friendly for the sugary abuse.
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| So tell my secretary now to hold all of my calls,
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| I believe I can hear through these walls.
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| Oh please save me, save me from myself.
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| I can’t be the only one stuck on the shelf.
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| You said you’d always fall for the underdog.
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| Well I’ve been dreaming of jetstreams and kicking up dust,
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| A thirty seven thousand foot wonderlust
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| And with skyline number 9 ticked off on my mind,
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| Oh can you hear me screaming out now through the telephone lines.
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| Oh please save me, save me from myself.
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| I can’t be the only one stuck on the shelf.
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| You said you’d always fall for the underdog.
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| Save me.
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| Save me.
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| Save me.
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| Save me. |