Time, all the long red lines, that take
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Control, of all th smoke-like streams that flow into your
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Dreams, that big blue open sea, that can't be
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Crossed, that can't be climbed, just born
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Between, oh the two white lines, distant gods and faded
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Signs, of all those blinking lites, you had to pick the one tonight...
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Holes, dug by little moles, angry jealous
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Spies, got telephones for eyes, come to you as
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Friends, all those endless ends, that can't be
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Tied, oh they make me laugh, and always make me
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Cry, until they drop like flies, and sink like polished
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Stones, of all the stones i throw,
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How does that old song go?
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How does that old song go?...
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Bands, those funny little plans, that never work quite right.
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Holes
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Mercury Rev |