| Just another Sunday paddle boat ride
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| On a man made lake with another lady stranger
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| If I remain lost and die on a cross
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| At least I wasn’t born in a manger
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| I can sense somewhere right now I’m being prayed for
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| Seems like I always arrive on the same shore
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| From where my sails set maybe with one less lady than my vessel left with
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| Is that a threat?
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| Oh I’ve stayed scarce this last year yes, but be assured and unrest
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| I’m unavoidable like death this Christmas is this twisted?
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| Why be upset
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| I never said I didn’t have syphilis, miss listless
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| Hard like the bricks I pound my fists with
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| I mean she’s hard like the bricks that I pound with my fist
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| This is the fall of Mr. Fifths
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| Forged for the hordes and the ladies and lords
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| Set with fat chords in modern English
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| I know I know
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| There’s nothing more appealing
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| Than the sound of high heels
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| Down the marble tiled hallways of your district’s one allotted city-funded
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| Steiner school bilingual or montessori
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| Followed by a single high pitch scream followed by breaking glass
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| But could your anger be mapped into an interpretive dance
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| To a trip-hop track?
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| Could it be bowed out on strings?
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| Or strung into a pattern for a god’s eye to bring
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| To your alma mater’s holiday fundraiser boutique thing?
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| My god
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| Oh
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| God I’m sorry, I’m just being crazy
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| I’m sorry, I’m just being crazy, I know
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| Don’t pay attention to me okay?
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| Look at the fire
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| Everything’s totally fine
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| I feel a lot better now! |