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Trained in the art of devastating |
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The arts be remaining unmoved in their midst |
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We came down, down, down |
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From that high and now we're looking for more |
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We're bloodless now |
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And we are uninterrupted by the majesty of it all |
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We're passed around, around, around |
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Like the currency of the friendless roads |
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One trick pony and the parlor |
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Isn't big enough for the both of us' |
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Til death do we rock? |
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We're so full of shit' |
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Til death do we rock? |
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You keep buying it' |
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Til death do we rock? |
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You're so full of shit' |
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Til death do we rock? |
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You're still buying it |
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The closed circuit of stimulus |
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That runs between fashion and guilt |
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Is winding tighter around the heart |
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Our orbits are collapsing upon themselves |
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We're retreating into the vogue |
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Where we're sucking the blood from the necks of guitars |
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Beg for the scraps of prose |
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That piled up behind the bar |
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Though we try and try and try |
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We get the melodies wrong |
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But we remember the words |
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We're parasites, we are delicate |
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In the way we bring each other down |
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We were oh so close to the start when they finished us |
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Aim the mast at the ground |
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Aim the mast at the ground |
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And sail us to the belly of the whale' |
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Til death do we rock? |
|
We're so full of shit' |
|
Til death do we rock? |
|
You keep buying it |
|
The closed circuit of stimulus |
|
That runs between fashion and guilt |
|
Is winding tighter around the heart |
|
Our orbits are collapsing upon themselves |
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But we stand in the traffic indifferent |
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To the grand histrionics of |
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God unmoved |