| It was the rage of plastics; |
| I was 24
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| I was doing my time on the dancefloor
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| It was all polyester and leopard print
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| And Fabergé coming off the ladies
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| I know it’s a blight to the brightest how our designs unseam
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| Like the backside of some skirt in some old man’s dream
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| I got caught putting off all my traveling plans
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| For this refinery job and his maybes
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| With hair in ribbons, stockings in runs
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| Fashion bricks out of the breaks as they come
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| Land goes for less downwind of the plant
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| There’s no telling how long you’ll be paying
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| There are scores of us born in the silent spring
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| Whose wombs won’t take, won’t bear anything
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| He had want for a daughter, and I had want for a son
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| Now I rock my moon faced man like one
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| Was it the river on fire that made us what we became?
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| Was it the cup that we drank from, or what it contained?
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| Does it move to the beat of the oil drums
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| Or flow out of our eyes as we’re wailing?
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| And I see it rise in ribbons to the clouds overhung
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| Just to spit back down on everyone
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| Land goes for less downwind of the plant
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| There’s no telling how long you’ll be paying
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| I have tried to be patient as I’ve been made nurse
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| Get some help from the perks of my devotion’s curse
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| And I know, yeah, I know the man’s pain is much worse
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| For the moon and his grace are now waning
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| You say the first one now will later be last
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| My faith in scripture’s come to pass
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| Na I won’t play dumb, I’m done trying to sweeten this load
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| And you give me a ribbon, you tell me to run
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| To land my legs to your narcissus fund
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| But land still goes for less downwind of the plant
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| Making this living just brings about dying
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| I got a rage of plastics, the refinery floor
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| I got a rage of plastics, got nothing more
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| Now I won’t play dumb and I’m done lying
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| Making this living just brings about dying
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| While land still goes for less downwind of the plant
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| Making this living just brings about dying
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| Making this living just brings about dying
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| Making this living just brings about dying |