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One of those fucking awful black days |
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When nothing is pleasing |
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And everything that happens is an excuse for anger |
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An outlet for emotions stockpiled, an arsenal, an armour |
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These are the days when I hate the world |
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Hate the rich, hate the happy |
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Hate the complacent, the TV watchers |
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Beer drinkers, the satisfied ones |
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Because I know I can be all of those little hateful things |
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And then I hate myself for realizing that |
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There's no preventative, directive or safe approach for living |
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We each know our own fate |
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We know from our youth how to be treated |
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How we'll be received, how we shall end |
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These things don't change |
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You can change your clothes, change your hairstyle |
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Your friends, cities, continents |
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But sooner or later your own self will always catch up |
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Always it waits in the wings |
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Ideas swirl but don't stick |
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They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield |
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One of those rainy day car rides my head implodes |
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The atmosphere in this car a mirror of my skull |
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Wet, damp, windows dripping and misted with cold |
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Walls of grey, nothing good on the radio |
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Not a thought in my head |
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I know a place we could go where you'll fall in love so hard |
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That you'll wish you were dead |
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Let's take life and slow it down |
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Incredibly slow, frame by frame |
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With two minutes that take ten years to live out |
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Yeah, let's do that |
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Telephone poles like praying mantis against the sky |
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Metal arms outstretched |
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So much land travelled, so little sense made of it |
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It doesn't mean a thing, all this land laid out behind us |
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I'd like to take off into these woods |
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And get good and lost for a while |
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I'm disgusted with petty concerns |
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Parking tickets, breakfast specials |
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Does someone just have to carry this weight |
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Be safe, be safe, be safe, be safe, be safe |
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Abstract typography, methane covenant |
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Linear gospel, nashville sales lady |
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Stocky emissary, torturous lice, mad Elizabeth |
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Be safe, be safe, be safe, be safe, be safe |
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Chemotherapy bullshit |
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I know a place we could go where you'll fall in... |
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The light within me shines like a diamond mine |
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Like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on the highway |
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Like a snake eating its own tail, a steam turbine |
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Frog pond, two full closets burst open in disarray |
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Soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed |
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Red convertible, shopping list, blowjob, death's head |
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Devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memory, movements |
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The movie unpeeling, unreeling, about to begin |
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I know a place we could go where you'll fall in love... |
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I've seen your hallway, you're a darn call away |
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I've hear your stairs creak |
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I can fix my mind on your yes and your no |
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I'll film your face today in the sparkling canals |
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All red, yellow, blue, green brilliance and silver dutch reflection |
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Racing thoughts racing thoughts all too real |
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You're moving so fast now I can't hold your image |
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This image I have of your face by the window |
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Me standing beside you, arm on your shoulder |
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A catalogue of images, flashing glimpses, then gone again |
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I'm tethered to this post you've sunk in me |
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And every clear afternoon now I'll think of you up in the air |
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Twisting your heel, your knees up around me, my face in your hair |
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You scream so well, your smile so loud, it still rings in my ears |
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I know a place we could go where you'll fall in love so hard |
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That you'll wish you were dead |
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Inhibition, distant, tired of longing |
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Clean my teeth, stay the course |
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Hold the wheel, steer on to freedom |
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Open all the boxes, open all the boxes |
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Open all the boxes, open all the boxes |
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Times Square midday, newspaper buildings |
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News headlines going around |
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You watch as they go and hope for some good ones |
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Those tree shadows in the park |
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They're all whispering, chasing leaves |
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Around six PM, shadows across the cobblestones |
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Girl in front of bathroom mirror |
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She's slow and careful, paints her face green, mask-like |
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Like Matisse,"Portrait with Green Stripe" |
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Long shot through apartment window |
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A monologue on top but no girl in shot |
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The light within me shines like a diamond mine |
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Like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on the highway |
[05:13.81] |
Like a snake eating its own tail, a steam turbine |
[05:17.69] |
Frog pond, two full closets burst open in disarray |
[05:21.42] |
Soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed |
[05:23.46] |
Red convertible, shopping list, blowjob, death's head |
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Devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memory, movements |
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The movie unreeling, about to begin |
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That was great by me |
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Yeah? Mine were alright. Wasn't my best one but who cares |
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That's the spirit |