When the summer's young
|
And nobody has their prices
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No one is no one
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And nobody in a crisis
|
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There's no swimming past the drop off
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Or feeling sorry for yourself
|
You don't go swimming past the drop off
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Or else
|
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You're a pistol, you're a gun
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And suddenly I have no prices
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I'm like a friend of Dylan's, Bob Dylan
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Our shovels meeting in some crisis
|
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But there's no swimming past the drop off
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Yeah, we don't replace ourselves
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You don't go swimming past the drop off
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Or else
|
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The fates are amok and spun
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Measured and cut
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And the past is meant to please us
|
You're a comet from earth
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In a Kiss Alive shirt
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Saying, "Holy fuck, it's Jesus"
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The surface is green
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And the dark interweaves
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In a lonely iridescence
|
It's terribly deep
|
And the cold is complete
|
And it only lacks a presence
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And nothing else
|
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When the summer is done
|
And nobody sympathizes
|
You're no friend of Dylan's
|
Yeah, you won't see another crisis
|
|
There's no swimming past the drop off
|
Or feeling sorry for ourselves
|
You don't go swimming past the drop off
|
Or else
|
|
Personal stakes
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Will get raised and get raised
|
Till your story gets compelling
|
If you lacked the sense
|
Or were willfully dense
|
Is forever in the telling
|
The surface is green
|
And the dark interweaves
|
In a lonely iridescence
|
It's terribly deep
|
And the cold is complete
|
And it only lacks your presence
|
And nothing else
|
Nothing else
|
Nothing else
|
And no one else
|
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-----------------
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The Drop-Off
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Tragically Hip |