It's not too late
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Be thugs, be saints
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But don't streak your heart
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In the light of day
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Your points are down
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Washed up again
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Who needs a fork
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When the plate is your hands?
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You were not second best
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But not yet a queen
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You picture yourself as you seem
|
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Ah, you don't have to blame Mr. Willow, oh, oh
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Ah, you're the umbrella inside this riddle, oh
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You're wrestling
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With all your bones
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But love is not hopstotch to live like a stone
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Your soul's your world
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Your mind your house
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Expect nothing less than what you put out
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You won't rip the circus off
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They'll bench your esteem
|
You picture yourself as you seem
|
|
Ah, you don't have to blame Mr. Willow, oh, oh
|
Ah, you're the umbrella inside this riddle, oh
|
|
You let the rain follow you back down the stairs
|
You have the choice to count up your layers
|
|
Ah, you don't have to blame Mr. Willow, oh, oh
|
Ah, you're the umbrella inside this riddle, oh
|
Ah, you don't have to blame Mr. Willow, oh, oh
|
Ah, you're the umbrella inside this riddle, oh
|
|
-----------------
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Mr. Willow
|
Aslyn |