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unhand me i am not a criminal |
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though i've played a guilty part |
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in the modern sense that one pretends |
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their life is original |
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i wrote a book and i will call it something cynical |
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the story is slow the hero does not change |
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and if he can then he won't anyway |
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instead his foes and lovers all become identical |
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i fled the country |
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i thought i'd leave this behind |
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but i built the same damn house |
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on every acre i could find |
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and i tried to fake my own death |
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just shake the devils from my mind |
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i said |
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unhand me i am not a criminal |
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and if i am i paid the man just let me go |
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soon enough you will be dancing at my funeral |