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I am dead, you are sad, it's exactly how these pieces can collide |
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So I'm glad that cool willingness and comfort are now wild |
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This waters cold, though so I'm told it stir a million perfect particles of sand |
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Slipped through your hands, now the body's where they're inclined to land |
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Is this my kind of living? Is this my kind of land? |
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I am sitting on a grand gesture made of something skewed and underhand |
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And you claim that I will never be made of man |
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I will rise with the sound of bird following this miracle of mine |
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They're the kind that would flay about with chest pushed out in pride |
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And they would sing, la la la la la la la la la la and they would laugh ha ha ha |
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ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha |
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Is this my kind of living? Is this my kind of land? |
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I am sitting on a grand gesture made of something skewed and underhand |
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And you claim I will never be made of man |
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So true when the enemy's made of man |
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So great that I will never be made of man |