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"The planet you're on means way more to you than here" |
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That's what she slurred as her lover just blurs |
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And slips out of frame as her focus gets worse. |
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He's craving a curious taste, |
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Out on the prowl, pushing hard through the crowd, |
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A dilution of his former self |
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As the last of the purity drips from his spout. |
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In these dizzy confines of a merry-go-round |
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Coughs a city draped in bellows of smoke. |
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And it's high time he entered the mind of someone else, |
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To see what it's like. |
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So long my moonlight, |
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I won't write, |
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I have to ride, |
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And I won't have time to send you any message, |
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'Cause the transplant on my mind is wreckage |
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I refuse to exhume. |
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Dipping your toes in the city, swimming with sharks |
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Careful now not to go in too deep. |
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The lullaby drone of a nearby phone doesn't penetrate the wall |
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Of your drunken drawl. |
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Trapped is the change that you fight to digest |
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As you lose sight of what you've become. |
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Your misery's complete as the last of your friends |
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Draw away an indifferent hand |
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And forgets who you are. |
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So long false moonlight, |
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I won't lie, |
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I have to confide in the haven and the comfort of my own mind, |
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'Cause the one I occupy treats me so unkind every time. |