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There are babies with guns beheading their friends |
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In shopping malls around the world |
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Yet somehow the |
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Kings of Leon still find time to write songs about girls |
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I don't suck much less at least those dudes |
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Have no illusions of angst and hopelessness |
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And if I claim revolutionary or |
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I give to charity |
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They'll all know it's a plea for someone like me |
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Disgusted with lies and cut down by their own beatnik poetry |
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I'm just one man with no face and no friends |
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God, in this dank |
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Brooklyn bar |
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I can feel it again, it's eating me |
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Wait a second, |
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I can't sing the same damn song over and over again |
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I can't define myself through irony and self-deprecation |
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I can't deny myself being alive through my alienation |
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Everything that you do keeps me running back to you |
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Can't give up, live the dream even if |
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I don't believe |
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We can't afford to surrender, we can't afford |
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Fake players and the twisted web they weave |
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I contend that the coming holocaust will be of those who choose to believe |
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Anything but a phallic sense of self |
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Hang alone in the attic tied up tightly with your father's belt |
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You bathe in blood like |
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Mr. Crowley |
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Your cost, their loss, their memory haunts me |
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I stand opposed to chaos that you chose |
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New heart, new bones, am |
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I not alone? |
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Fake players are the ones who play the game(You're the flame, you're the flame, come on) |
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Fake players are the ones who play the game(Fake players, fake players) |
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Fake players are the ones who play the game(You're the flame, you're the flame, come on) |
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Fake players are the ones who play the game(Fake players) |