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Now I'm hunched over a typewriterI guess you call that paintin' in a caveAnd there's a word I can't rememberand a feeling I cannot escape
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Little soldier, little insectYou know war it has no heartIt will kill you in the sunshineOr happily in the the darkWhere kindness is a card gameOr a bent up cigaretteIn the trenches, in the hard rainWith a bullet and a bet.
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Although Omaha is my birthplace and the place I grew up, I don't see myself spending extended amounts of time there. I feel almost more comfortable and more at peace in New York.
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Well, I could have been a famous singerIf I had someone else's voiceBut failure's always sounded betterLet's fuck it up, boys, make some noise!
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And you speak of a fever, that burns you inside,as you explain to your mother, how you've wanted to die.So she kisses your fingers, and says 'My darling, but why?When there is so much more. There is so much more.'
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My head's a carousel of pictures andThe spinning never stops.
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One by one I drowned all the people I’d been.
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Sometimes I worry that I've lost the plotMy twitching muscles tease my flippant thoughtsI never really dreamed of heaven muchUntil we put him in the ground.
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Oh, I've made love, yeah, I've been fucked, so what?I'm a cartoon, you're a full moon, let's stay up.
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The world's become a little too mean.
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A kid that picks up a record, he doesn't need to know anything other than the music and have it in his or her headphones. They're getting ideas directly, it's like someone whispering in their ear. That's such a personal way to receive information.
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I understand why people get desensitized and roll their eyes when they hear a protest song, or even a politician making some flowery speech. It doesn't really change anything.
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And I'm sorry about the phone call and needing youSome decisions you don't makeI guess it's just like breathing or not wanting toThere are some things you can't fake
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I believe that vinyl will outlast CDs. There's no reason for it, but it stays around because there are still people that want them.
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I would say I'm a humanist. I like that. I mean, I don't claim to know anything, but I'm curious about it all. I'm always fascinated when people really fervently believe, because I have such a hard time believing anything.
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In a coma, you don't dream,you just hope that someone sits with you.
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I'd rather be working for a paycheck, than waiting to win the lottery.Besides, maybe this time it's different, I mean,I really think you like me.
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If I die tonight, then I guess I die tonightLet me go on.
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We're all too busy working, entertaining ourselvesWith forty hours, television and prescription pills Well, I take two a day to help my brain behaveIt never does, but who's to say? At least my doctor gets paid.
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If I could act likeThis was my real life,And not some cage where I've been placed,Well then, I could tell youThe truth like I used toAnd not be afraid of sounding fake.
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So when your new eyes meet mine they won't see no lies, just love.
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On a detox loft through a Glendale Park over sidewalk chalkSomeone wrote in red, 'start over.'
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we made love on the living room floorwith the noise in the background of a televised warand in that defeaning pleasure i thought i heard someone sayif we walk away they'll walk away
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I'm ripe for the picking for the Scientologists - one of those creeps. Someone's got to find me. Some little weird cult can just pluck me up, because I'm ripe for the picking.