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My parents ask if I'm alright; I say 'I've just been staying up too late.I need to sleep' I need to do something!To get this awful weight up off my chest,keep her pretty ghost from chasing me!
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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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And I sing and sing of awful thingsThe pleasure that my sadness brings.
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One by one I drowned all the people I’d been.
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I like the Alice in Wonderland sculpture in Central Park. I love how it's been rained on forever and looks worn down by time.
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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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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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In a coma, you don't dream,you just hope that someone sits with you.
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so immagine what you want and hold onto that thoughtcause thats as close as it will ever comeand believe you're were you're arekeep acting out the partbut at the end of the daythe trees all get wheeled awayand you'll be standing alone in a blank, blank space
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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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The world's become a little too mean.
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My head's a carousel of pictures andThe spinning never stops.
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I always embrace the worst-case scenario.
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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 feeling is that I think writers in general tend to be self-conscious and it takes a bit of a leap of faith or just not giving a sh-t to write something you know people are going to criticize.
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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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So I want to get myself attached to something bolted down,So that these winds of circumstance won't keep blowing me around.From when I land to when I leavethere is enough time to sleep and sing.I keep running around, when all I want is to lay motionless.
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If I die tonight, then I guess I die tonightLet me go on.
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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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Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers and laid entwined together on a bed of clover and left there to sleep, left there to dream of their happiness.
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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.
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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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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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We've all seen the power music has to spread messages of solidarity and hope.