| Your grandpa died when you were nine
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| They said he had lost his mind
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| You have learned way too soon
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| You should never trust the Pantaloon
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| Now it’s your turn to be alone
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| Find a wife and build yourself a home
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| You have learned way too soon
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| That your dad is now the Pantaloon
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| You are tired, you are hurt
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| A moth ate through your favorite shirt
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| And all your friends fertilize the ground you walk
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| Lose your mind
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| He’s seen too many stare downs
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| Between the sun and the moon
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| In the morning air
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| How he used to hustle all the people
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| Walking through the fairgrounds
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| He’s been around so long
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| He’s changed his meaning of a chair now
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| Because a chair now
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| Is like a tiny island in the sea of all the people
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| Who glide across the very surface
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| That made his bones feeble
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| The end can’t come soon enough
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| But is it too soon?
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| Either way he can’t deny
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| He is a Pantaloon
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| You are tired, you are hurt
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| A moth ate through your favorite shirt
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| And all your friends fertilize the ground you walk
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| Lose your mind
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| You like to sleep alone
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| It’s colder than you know
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| 'Cause your skin is so
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| Used to colder bones
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| It’s warmer in the morning
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| Than what it is at night
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| Your bones are held together
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| By your nightmares and your frights
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| You are tired, you are hurt
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| A moth ate through your favorite shirt
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| And all your friends, they fertilize the ground you walk
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| So lose your mind
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| You are tired, you are hurt
|
| A moth ate through your favorite shirt
|
| And all your friends, they fertilize the ground you walk
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| Lose your mind |