You could never do this
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Remember who gave this to you
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I was there when you held the notepad
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When you committed it all to memory
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Only to reproduce at a fraction of the heart
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Stop singing my song
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Stop cheapening my words
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You haven't raised a naive foot from your cage
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Your lack of everything speaks volume in no words
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And now you point every finger at me
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That I haven't done my job
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Your working overtime with no results
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So now I am pointing the fingers
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The Art Of Killing A Copy Machine
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Training For Utopia |