| Could you be extraordinary?
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| Stems and seeds, bucket seeds.
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| This house is full of slurred speech,
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| your turn in that I watch you bleed.
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| And with this drink I’ll take you back home
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| where you shimmer in bright.
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| Stagger your charted parts
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| starts to be tied to sweet light.
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| And we don’t, it’s your turn to say,
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| I can’t feel a thing.
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| Is this just a wrinkle on a page that ends in glee?
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| Choose a path don’t run so fast
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| you were born to follow with me.
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| And with this drink I’ll swallow the intangible
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| I can’t get straight.
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| Control my limbs and lips
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| cause you’re credit is to misery.
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| Though mechanical a little bit,
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| from worse than overhead to approach me.
|
| Could you be extraordinary?
|
| We’re alone in this gaudy mess.
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| In the house of slurred speech
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| sharing gravity to suppress.
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| And in your ear I will whisper
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| weekly things that I do not mean.
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| Here a different diamond ring
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| now I won’t feel a thing.
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| I never had my turn to say, I can’t feel a thing. |