The poetry of this hangover
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I don't want to think, not
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Too hard anyway
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The scenery and fish, they're bad
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Take another breath, another look and swallow
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Holding the hand of hard times
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And fallout
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It could be worse...my star could fall
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Pacified by little things
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Tones of beige and green seem
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To halt a scream in waiting
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All red eyes, all heads thinking
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No one says anything I can
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Hear down here on the floor
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Where I belong
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Too young to find the horses
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Too young fighting causes
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I get overwhelmed
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And I feel three days old
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Another day goes and fails
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The people lose control just 'cause
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Things are going slow
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Your corduroy coat has left you
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Just when you're feeling the wind
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And cold
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Then comes a rain of old thoughts
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That always have to wreck my high
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And bring me down
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You and I are not the same
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You like everything
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Arms wave in a spin, blown by
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Things I've hated, I've faded to the point
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Where I'm not all there
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Curled up on the floor
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Where I belong
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-----------------
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Three Days Old
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| I Mother Earth |