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Felt ghost, white sick |
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to cross the Brooklyn Bridge, |
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was a color coded era |
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now, I guess it always is, |
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In a nervous grin like an electroplated chain |
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was survival of the sicker soul |
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I got off of the train |
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and it never even troubled me to see |
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if that snicker was my future |
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looking back at me |
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I can't pinpoint the very minute that it changed |
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Can you pick a favorite color from a thousand shades of grey? |
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In the green East River |
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when the water lilies grow, I prayed for hope to spring |
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eternal, even if the trickle's slow |
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and it never even troubled me to see |
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if that snicker was the future looking back at me. |
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We were happy, we were sad |
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she gave me the only one I'd had |
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As the helicopters lifted stars into the sky |
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look for peace on Staten Island |
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on the ferry sneaking by, |
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and it never even troubled me to see |
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if that snicker was my echo coming back at me. |
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We were happy, we were sad |
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she gave me the only one I'd had. |