| And when i woke up, i woke up stiff and grey already,
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| Posed in sleep by something half my cells made stone,
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| Wrists and ankles crossed at a vulnerable angle,
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| And when i woke up, well i woke up alone
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| As the only fool or pharaoh present,
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| In a shoddy school museum collection
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| Looted of gold, if there ever was some,
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| And even the good wood gone
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| Remaining fingers curled around the memory of ra,
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| Left not even with my death mask on,
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| Heart and other organs missing for so long,
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| Features faded and dated in estimation,
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| And even the good wood gone
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| Drunk off a leak in the ceiling,
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| Some mantra stuck on my lips in vain
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| No flash photography,
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| No flash photography,
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| No flash photography,
|
| And when i’m really buried i’ll be buried in cleveland,
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| With a new pair of skis and someone’s old set of keys to their car,
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| And bottom floor apartment door and health club locker,
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| Throw the scent of my true purpose from god and grave robbers
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| My true purpose which i will have taken the care to have kept hidden
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| Even from myself my whole life
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| No flash photography,
|
| No flash photography,
|
| No flash photography,
|
| Already grey and rehearsing my mantra,
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| Left hand gripping hockey stick or cattle prod,
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| My final futile act of double deception,
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| Aloof and tinged with truth as the best lies are,
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| As i’ve always shot pool south paw,
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| And many of you who knew me saw |