To boldly clap in a room full of nothing
|
you never know, it could be one of those
|
poignant evenings.
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Museum's locked and it's long since past
|
closing,
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you cannot know, you cannot not know
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what you're knowing
|
what can you do, they're all gone
|
and we'll go too.
|
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The curtain climbs over me every morning.
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I don't know why I'm so immunized
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against reforming.
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To coldly slap at a face full of nothing,
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you never know it could've been one of those
|
looks of longing.
|
What can you do, they're all gone
|
And we'll go too.
|
|
-----------------
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We'll Go To
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Tragically Hip |