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Lately as I ulcer in a new heir of unaccountable, |
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son, I've begun to repent you expecting anything of me. |
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I've no pretty pills for you, blow no high holy horns for this. |
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Should the radiation crumple us, hush in our disintegrating bed. |
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If I soldier up and church it out, railing straight and comfortable in a crowd- |
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what difference would it make? If I'm here or wrong? |
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The lights are on and everyone is gone. |
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Should I die like a dog on the gallows, dear, |
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sing a song unto my ear and make my fear be gone. |
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Oh, don't render me sticky yet- |
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let me be stored in a cool, dry place. |
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Here lies a shook one, deserting an army of none. |
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Was I awake when the shit went down? |
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Did I have enough in my account to skip town? |
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Did they set fire to the home that I lived in? |
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Did they feed me to my next of kin? |
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Was the media there? Did they handcuff me and throw me to the ground? |
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Did they read me my rights all wrong? |
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Did they read me my rights out loud? |