"Backwash districts sprung from Ra's bright hips
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Reduced to silkscreen hand job new car ego trips
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And it's just endless combinations of the same old shit
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Sloshing back and forth across some continents"
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All that talking it ain't got no use when it's just mal-digestion that's been haunting you
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Along with reflux opinions from your ulcer moods
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You're just a litany of horrors like the evening news but
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Off somewhere in a New York flat, benzedrine derailed rants of immeasurable frenetic praise
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That cauterize before they save
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All the truth now in how you're lying there
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Shoulder bladed nightmare rug pulled from your feet
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All the truth now in how you're lying there in
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Angelheaded elsewhere so markedly meek
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Slapped like a has been by syntactic gods
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whom which the help you find your glasses but not your lower jaw
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And you don't want to look surprised but you're in constant AHHH!
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Ain't no fig leaf big enough to hide your dicktion flaws now
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Teeming pools of alphabetic shame that spit out
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Infinitely indolent verbs across your page
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Who dig their cloddish claws instantly into some nouns legs
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if once your manuscript just limped now it's become quite lame but
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Off somewhere in New York flat, they don't deal with things like that, just
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immeasurable frenetic praise that cauterizes as it saves
|
|
All the truth now in how you're lying there
|
shoulder bladed nightmare rug pulled from your feet
|
All the truth now in how you're lying there in
|
angelheaded elsewhere so markedly meek
|
|
All the truth now in how you're lying there
|
shoulder bladed nightmare rug pulled from your feet
|
All the truth now in how you're lying there in
|
angelheaded elsewhere for the past six weeks
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-----------------
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Carl Solomon Blues
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Dear and the Headlights |