| You begin to wear me out, I feel like crossbones to you skull
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| Your stupidity blinds me, your so-called brilliance is so dull
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| You’re living life by proxy as your mind contracts
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| Too 2dimensional for backgrounds, too scared to see the life of facts
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| You callect emotions like the stamps of your youth
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| Then pass out in the gutter with your gin and Vermouth
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| You lie with the windfalls although you’re unripe
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| Saying: «Idon't care about the green «You know you ain’t
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| Got the guts, «maaan» But you pretend to have the spleen
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| While playing memory with your feelings
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| And hide-and-seek with your thoughts
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| Accusing others of sell-out, saying you can’t be bought
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| While I nreality, you ain’t got nothing to sell
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| Your Chines fawcet’s open, but there’s nothing in the well
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| You’re a tabula rasa, you’re an empty page
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| You get through life like you get through a book
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| Been there, done that, Mr Jones?
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| The last chapter has ended, still you’re as blank a page
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| A page as white as your bones |