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My heroine is on heroin |
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But not bad heroin, the good heroin |
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That rockstars take |
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And that heals the ache |
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Of the pain she's in |
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She's not dirty; she's past thirty |
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She plays acoustic guitar and the flute |
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And the harp and the theramin |
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On heroin |
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My heroine |
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And oh, in this dead town |
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The dead kids hang around |
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This must be Zion, they promised us Zion... |
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My heroine is so beautiful |
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Her cheeks are hollowed out, God, She's beautiful |
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She orders jugs of wine |
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And wastes all her time |
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At the wishing well |
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She's a dreamer |
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I'm a dreamer |
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We are not like the others |
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We're the best of our brothers |
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We dreamers, We dreamers |
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You should see us |
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And oh, in this dead town |
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The dead kids hang around |
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This must be Zion, they promised us Zion... |
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My heroine believes in something |
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Because something big must be happening |
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She carries books |
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That belie her looks |
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And the pain she's in |
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She sees singers |
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Who sing protest songs |
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That she already agrees with |
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She has afternoon teas with |
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Them, looks at the world |
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And the unthinkable wrongs |
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She sings, damn this dead town |
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Where the dead kids hang around. |
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Bored to tears with the infinite peace |
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The chosen one, like everyone |
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She raises her eyes |
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Raises her eyes |
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Raises her eyes and succumbs |