| Unhand me I am not a criminal
|
| But I’ve played a guilty part
|
| In the modern sense that one pretends
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| That love is original
|
| I wrote a book and I will call it something cynical
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| The story is slow, the hero does not change
|
| And if he can then he won’t anyway
|
| Instead his foes and lovers all become identical
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| I fled the country
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| I thought I’d leave this behind, oh
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| But I built the same damn house
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| On every acre I could find, oh
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| Hey
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| And I tried to fake my own death
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| Just shake the devils from my mind
|
| And I said
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| Unhand me, I am not a criminal
|
| And if I am, I paid the man just let me go
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| Soon enough you will be dancing at my funeral |