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Ambition, I’ve found, can lead only to failure. I do not read the reviews. No, I am not singing for you.
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I swear that I'm dyingslowly but it's happening, and if the perfect spring is waiting somewhere...just take me there.
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And I sing and sing of awful thingsThe pleasure that my sadness brings.
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And I never thought this life was possible,You're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for.
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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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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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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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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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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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If I die tonight, then I guess I die tonightLet me go on.
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One by one I drowned all the people I’d been.
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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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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 believe that vinyl will outlast CDs.
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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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If the world could remain within a frameLike a painting on a wall,Then I think we would see the beauty, thenWe would stand staring in aweAt our still lives posedLike a bowl of oranges,Like a story toldBy the fault lines and the soil.
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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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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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We've all seen the power music has to spread messages of solidarity and hope.
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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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A lot of the mythology that sprung up around Haile Selassie, it's not like something he asked for, having people deify him. That's pretty heavy. I don't know what you do in that situation.
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So I will find my fears and face themor I will cower like a dogI will kick and scream or kneel and pleadI'll fight like hell to hide that I've given up
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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.