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the sound of ataris kills working class men who know that they'll never drive fast cars again heroes are broken the cello is burnt pictures of babies are covered with dirt elbows are bleeding the sneakers have holes decaying rooftops have decaying goals throw it away set yourself free run to the ocean don't worry 'bout me i have lots of friends and the road has no end and your time is your money and i've got to spend time on the outside of being removed from forgotten theories i never proved i have lots of friends and my life is pretend and i'll run and i'll run and i won't understand how my feet stick out the cold desert breeze and people drink coffee inside redwood trees renaissance uncles and surgical aunts have polar fleece cousins in old navy pants with heroes all published and pianos upgraded and laptops for hearts that are sharp and serrated carve me a pawn, carve me a rook make me the queen of my own storybook gather some branches and make me a cane for when it gets hard to support my own weight i have lots of friends and what's blended will mend i'm bo peep and my sheep are the dreams i attend small and unruly and wearing your shirt pictures of babies are covered with dirt i have lots of friends and the road is my friend and my thoughts are all stupider when they don't bend over and wrap underneath and around pictures of babies are all underground dead and they're buried down in the ground i have lots of friends i have lots of friends i have lots of friends i have lots of friends the sound of ataris kills me and my friends 'cause we know that we'll never go back there again sometimes we play playstation but it's not the same |