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Alright, I'm on Johnson Avenue in San Luis Obispo |
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And I'm five years old or six, maybe |
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And indications that there's something wrong with our new house |
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Trip down the wire twice daily |
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I'm in the living room watching the Watergate hearings |
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While my stepfather yells at my mother |
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Launches a glass across the room, straight at her head |
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And I dash upstairs to take cover |
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Lean in close to my little record player on the floor |
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So this is what the volume knob's for |
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I listen to dance music |
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Dance music |
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Okay, so look, I'm 17 years old |
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And you're the last, best thing I've got going |
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But then the special secret sickness starts to eat through you |
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What am I supposed to do? No way of knowing |
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So I follow you down your twisting alleyways |
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Find a few cul de sacs of my own |
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There's only one place this road ever ends up |
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And I don't want to die alone |
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Let me down, let me down, let me down gently |
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When the police come to get me |
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I'm listening to dance music |
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Dance music |