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It's a monday morning, cold winter's day, nothing outside is real. |
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step in the car, turn the key, put on some heat, begin to feel. |
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then i blink my eyes to make sure i'm me and think about catching a buzz |
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box my ears, clean my nose, got to get in gear because |
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I've got a hell to be in by 8:05 and i can't find my head. |
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and i can't figure out just why i'm here but i think i'm being led. |
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I'm rolling down the highway at a safe and sane sixty per |
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seems so easy, seems so right to pull over and jump the curb. |
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the steering wheel begins to shift a little to my right. |
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my palms become sweaty and i jerk in a flash of light. |
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i slam on the breaks and screech to a halt. |
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pedestrians are swerving, i laugh cause it's my fault. |
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calm as can be i pull back into traffic, |
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speeding towards my hell cause i like my violence graphic. |
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the trees and leaves become superimposed on the sky |
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my vision is consumed with the greenness going by. |
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I've got a hell to be in by 8:05 and i can't find my head. |
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and i can't figure out just why i'm here but i think i'm being led. |
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At 7:50 i'm stopped behind a school bus filled with pubes. |
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wouldn't it be funny, i think, to sell the little fuckers 'ludes? |
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but then a thought occurs to me from long ago when i was young |
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of the fear i had inside me at the prospect of barbiturate fun. |
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oh, how the times they change, i cackle deep inside |
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as i speed past that yellow shit puking carbon monoxide. |
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I've got a hell to be in by 8:05 and i can't find my head. |
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and i can't figure out just why i'm here but i think i'm being led. |
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I've got five minutes to bolt, can't be late to my hell |
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when that cold hits me again, who i am i cannot tell. |
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what's reality is a mystery brought on by too much thought. |
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my concepts collapse my sense of being caught |
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between the cold air surrounding me and the emptiness inside. |
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my head is killing me, and i've got no place to hide. |