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Busy at home |
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I was happy for a while |
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But the joke is over |
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Looking down |
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At the carefully laid out infamy |
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Take a scythe, take a scythe, |
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To the rotting core |
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Of man-vegetaton |
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Now I sigh |
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At the cool cool attitude to ignorance |
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The look in your eye |
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When you gave this to me |
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Just put me on my guard |
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In this elegant chaos |
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I stand to one side |
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Shouting "ha" |
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Was I forced into this? |
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Or was it given to me? |
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It's a nice idea - |
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As a gift |
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Or as something to try for a while |
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70 years? |
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It's neither one thing nor the other |
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My big fear |
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Is to dig it at last |
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And have it taken away |
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The look in your eyes |
|
When you gave this to me |
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Just put me on my guard |
|
In this elegant chaos |
|
I stand to one side |
|
It's not a problem of secrecy |
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I take it in my stride |
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Did I learn to breathe to be killed like this? |
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Faces to the glass |
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I see them televise my death |
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Oh, and here comes the part |
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Where I break down and cry. |
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People I see |
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Just remind me of mooing |
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Like a cow on the grass |
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And that's not to say |
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That there's anything wrong |
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With being a cow anyway |
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But people are people |
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With the added advantage |
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Of the spoken word |
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We're getting on fine |
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But I feel more of a man |
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When I get with the herd. |