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Know that you'll soon go crazy, just like a whittling stick |
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Hit by the coming daylight, cut up in a quick succession |
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A pointed confession really stripped of all your armor |
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Down to your very nature beneath the haze and vapor gaze |
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You're such a willing stick to beckon the wanting knife |
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And you've been looking for it, the right blade, all your life |
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Saying who's gonna cut me down to a size that suits me? |
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Is there a worthy sculptor among all you fine young knives? |
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It's enough to make you take your head and put it on a shelf |
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To cut the heart out from your chest, now they'll come for that as well |
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Tell me how you do that crazy trick where you walk around asleep |
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Save it for your doctor friend, the one who keeps you under lock and key |
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You'll soon go screaming like a bargain basement lunatic |
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Who's not so specialized that they couldn't just replace you |
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Why don't you start crying for all that you've got left here? |
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Why don't you stop dying before you go and get it right? |
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Now you're selling off the house so you can buy the farm |
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You cut that heart out from your chest to let the light in through your arm |
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Tell me how you do that crazy trick where you walk around asleep |
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Save it for your doctor friend, the one who keeps you under lock and key |
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It's enough to make you take your head and put it in a bag |
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To cut the teeth out at the pink, now there's nothing in the bag |
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Foul weather friend, you are so dying |
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An amateur chemist now |
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King medicine, when is it perfect? |
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Where is it leading you? |
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There is no cure, only reprieve |
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Some fleeting joy posing as balance |
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Nothing is sure, so every four hours |
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King medicine, this subject loves you |