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She is pressing foot to pedal |
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She is zooming straight away |
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She is swimming in the jukebox |
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Of the screaming, driving day |
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She's about the age of Mary |
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When she had her wonderboy |
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She's an alcohol enthusiast |
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Whose dad is unemployed |
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She is wrapped around the steering wheel |
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She is focused on her goal |
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She is pulling out the vomit |
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From the bottom of my soul |
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I can't tell if I see sunshine |
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Or only the city's glow |
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I catch the wind in jelly jars |
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To listen to it blow |
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I'm so cautious I get nauseous |
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As my highway stretches out |
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My little pupils dilate |
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In the shadow of a doubt |
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I see billboards, I see wagons |
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And I see she's gone to sleep |
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The gap to faith is tiny |
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But I can't begin to leap |
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We are sick and we are injured |
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Terrible and torn in half |
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We are driving, we are trading in |
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A whimper for a laugh |
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We are tuneless, we are toneless |
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Our speedometer sings |
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We are stained, we are Starbucks coffe |
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We are jacks and queens and kings |
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We have but one navigator |
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And a single one to drive |
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We are tending to pretend |
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We're at the endings of our lives |