I've done myself an impossible crime,
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Had to paint myself a hole,
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And fall inside,
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If it's far enough in sight and rhyme,
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I get to wear another dress,
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And count in time,
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Oh, won't you do me the favor, man,
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Of a giving mind,
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A polymorphing opinion here,
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And your vague outline,
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I'll find myself another burning gate,
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A pretty face, a vague idea I can't relate,
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And this is get what you get for pulling pins,
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Out of the hole,
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Inside the hole you're in,
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It's like I'm pressed on the handle bars,
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Of a blind man's bike,
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No straws to grab, just the rushing wind,
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On the rolling mind,
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They want you to decide,
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Eventually, it happens,
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Some gather on one side,
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With all their pearly snapping,
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They close the basement door,
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It sets our teeth to chatter,
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You never saw it before,
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But now that hardly matters,
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You're old enough, boy,
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Too many summers you've enjoyed,
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So spin the wheel,
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We'll set you up with some odd convictions,
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Because you're finally golden, boy
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Spilt Needles (Alternate Version)
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The Shins |