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No matter how far you think you've come |
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there is a trigger for every gun |
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and you'll shoot and shoot and shoot |
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until your fingers go numb. |
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Sometimes love will creep up on you like a rainstorm |
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you'll be going out for ice cream then you're soaking wet |
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and ice cream is something no one should draw pain from |
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but there it is, a lightning bolt in your mint chocolate chip. |
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You'll be driving with your foot stuck out the window on a highway in Texas |
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you see a beautiful sky freckled by a million hot air balloons |
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you hear shouting and a frenzified honking from somewhere behind you |
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when you pull over love's chomping on the bumper with its very biggest tooth - it's the truth. |
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Well you could be relaxing in a Nanosuit, |
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locked in a steel cage, |
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in an underwater lair |
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with a pack of stingrays |
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with the laser-mounted cannons |
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and the self-destructing salmon |
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on patrol outside, |
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and not a minnow in sight. |
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But of course you'll start to think about |
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what would happen if the stingrays were to duke it out with a woolly mammoth |
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in the megafaunic battle of the century |
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and WHAM! |
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you're caught in a loving bear trap |
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wrapped in a grizzly suit. |
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No matter how far you think you've come |
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there is a trigger for every gun |
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and you'll shoot and shoot and shoot |
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until your fingers go numb. |
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There's no winning her back, |
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there's no right thing to say |
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there's no skipping ahead, |
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there's no running away |
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There's just love and the hole that remains when it leaves you one day. |
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Sometimes love will creep up on you like a birthday |
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you'll be brushing your teeth, and then you're 30 years old. |
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And you can try to wiggle by it but your hair grays |
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and soon enough clumps of love are chillin' on your pillowcase. |
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You'll be shopping at a PriceRite for some things to cook a dinner for a new friend |
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you'll be excited 'bout this sort of healthy diet that you've got yourself on |
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you start to bloat from these adulty kinds of things that got you feeling like you're starting to get headstrong |
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you turn the corner and love hits you as the world's biggest aisle of parmesan... cheese. |
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No matter how far you think you've come |
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there is a trigger for every gun |
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and you'll shoot and shoot and shoot |
|
until your fingers go numb. |
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There's no winning her back, |
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there's no right thing to say |
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there's no skipping ahead, |
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there's no running away |
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There's just love and the footprint it leaves when it steps on your face. |
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So you tell her that you're moving on |
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but you've told her so with another song |
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'cause the bittersweet nostalgia triggers on. |