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She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks |
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She hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god |
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so she named the baby Elvis |
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to make up for the royalty he lacked |
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And from then on it was turpentine and patches |
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From then on it was cold Campbell's from the can |
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They were just two jerks playing with matches |
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'Cause that's all they knew how to play |
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And it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window |
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And she knew they'd be destined to become |
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sacred roadkill on the way |
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And she was listening to the sound of heaven shaking |
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thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes |
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'Cause it's been turpentine and patches |
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It's been cold, cold Campbell's from the can |
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And they were just two jerks playing with matches |
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'Cause that's all they knew how to play |
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What they knew how to play |
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Elvis never could carry a tune |
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and she thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon |
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She was tracing her years with her fingers on her skin saying, |
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Well, why don't I begin again |
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with turpentine and patches |
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with cold, cold Campbell's from the can |
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After all I'm still a jerk playing with matches |
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It's just that he's not around to play along |
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yeah, I'm still an asshole playing with candles |
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Blowing out wishes, blowing out dreams |
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Just sitting here and trying to decipher what's written in Braille upon my skin |
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this skin... |
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She was lying on the floor and counting stretch... |
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She was lying on the floor and counting stretch... |
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She was lying on the floor lying, lying... |
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counting stretch.... |