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Come stumble my mirth beaten worker |
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I'm Jezmund the family berzerker |
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I'm bought for the price of a flagon of rice |
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The wind buffs the cabin |
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You speak of your life |
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Phish |
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Or more willingly Locust the Lurker |
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Confuse what you can of the ending |
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And revise your despise so impending |
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'Cause I soak on the wrath |
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That you didn't quite mask |
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I'm getting it clearly through alternate paths |
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Or mixed in with the signal you're sending |
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As I sat in their chairs and my synapses burned |
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And the torture of chalk dust collects on my tongue |
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Thoughts follow my vision and dance in the sun |
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All my vasoconstrictors they come slowly undone |
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Can't I live while I'm young? |
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But no peace for Jezmund tonight |
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I plug the distress tube up tight |
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And watch what I say as it flutters away |
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And all this emotion is kept harmless at bay |
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Not to educate somebody's fright |