| I remember vividly
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| My tears dropping on the grey carpet on the top step
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| Pops giving me his best guess
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| Me confessing the burning question stressing and concerning me and
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| Turning me to a wet mess
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| It’s probably nothing
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| I get it, I’m aware
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| I know it’s probably stupid to be scared
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| But these days are flying past us and nobody seems to care
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| It’s like we’re sprinting towards a brick wall we’re pretending isn’t there
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| What happens when we hit it?
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| Do we split into a million bits
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| Or do we come back as a bullfrog and talk in ribbits?
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| What is it? |
| What is it?
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| You got the answer so give it, so give it, so give it
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| Don’t lie, what happens when we die?
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| Dad says, Georgie I’m just guessing from what I’ve been told
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| Probably thinking, «How'd I raise this emo fucking nine-year- old?»
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| Since I’m sorta really not religious it’s a crapshoot
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| I roll a pair of dice
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| Although the thought of paradise is very nice
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| In my heart I know I don’t believe in magic
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| So I’m thinking maybe death is like eternal TV static
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| Or returning to the state before your birth
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| Absorbed into the earth
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| The fewer hours left the more they’re worth
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| I admit that it’s difficult to think about
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| I think everybody got a little bit of doubt
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| You don’t get to hide from it even if you shout
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| Not a soul on the planet gets to wiggle out
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| And he said that I know that’s it’s tough to take in son but it’s so early
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| I can see you’re in a hurry but don’t worry cause
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| That isn’t for a long, long time
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| That isn’t for a long, long time
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| That isn’t for a long, long time
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| That isn’t for a long, long, long, long time
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| Life moves fast
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| Made the mistake of blinking, twenty years passed
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| Now I’m sitting in my living room in Brooklyn with my father
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| We don’t bother doing Christmas in the Bay any longer
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| It’s first time that we’ve had this conversation
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| He says «It's tough to take in
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| I know we’re not quite ancient
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| But we’ve reached age where we should probably talk arrangements
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| We could take it several routes
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| We could sell the house
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| We can’t work forever, eventually money will run out
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| That’s a spot taking a loan would help us cover
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| Which would make it tougher to leave something for you and your brother»
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| Stop—can't you see?
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| Every meal that you paid for me
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| All this power to chase a dream
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| All this privilege not to crave riches
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| But it’s plain to me the key fact is it’s easy to act like cash means jack shit
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| if
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| You never lacked it
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| And the greatest honor I could have is to make a buck and pass back a
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| Fraction of all the happiness you gave to me
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| And I will never make you live where you don’t aim to be
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| Age is just data
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| We paint our story A to Z then dip out
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| R.I.P. |
| rip out, we tear out the pages
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| Tear up the stage and we take a seat
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| Making a vacancy
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| Famous or not, we fade from the plot
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| Every day when a new night falls
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| I ride around the sun on this big blue ball
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| I get a bit further from the kid called Paul
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| And I get a bit closer to the big brick wall
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| But since inching up to that fence
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| I can run my fingers against all the bricks and mortar and sense
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| That it’s not so cold and so dense
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| And although I’m mournful I’ve known that I’m not immortal
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| I’m not banging into stone but I’m more heading through this portal
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| We’re born to return to home we’re all born to be mincemeat
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| Everything dies except for Papaya King hotdogs on 86th St
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| Dad hands me a napkin tells me it’s been the same since the fifties
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| He didn’t always love the city but dammit he’ll miss me
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| How can you miss something after you leave, I agree that it’s sad, but please
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| Don’t dwell on it Dad, because—
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| That isn’t for a long, long time
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| That isn’t for a long, long time
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| That isn’t for a long, long time
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| That isn’t for a long, long, long, long time |