Foals in winter coats
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White girls of the North,
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File past one, five and one,
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They are the fabled lambs of Sunday ham, the EHS norm
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And they could float above the grass in circles if they tried
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A latent power I know they hide
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To keep some hope alive that a girl like I could ever try,
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Could ever try
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So we just skirt the hallway sides
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A phantom and a fly
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Follow the lines and wonder why
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There's no connection
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A week of rolling eyes,
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and cheap shots from the trite,
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And we're often on marcus porch again,
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Another afternoon with the goathead tunes,
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And pilfered booze.
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We wander through her mamma's house
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The milk from the window lights
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Family portrait circa '95
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This is that foreign land of the sprayed-on tans
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And it all feels fine
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Be it silk or slime
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So, when they tap our Monday heads
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To zombie walk in our stead
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This town seems hardly worth our time
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And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme,
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Too far along in our climb
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Stepping over what now towers to the sky,
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With no connection
|
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Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
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Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
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Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
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Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
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So when they tap our Sunday heads
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Two zombies walk in our stead
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This town seems hardly worth our time
|
And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme,
|
Too far along in our crime,
|
Stepping over what now towers to the sky,
|
With no connection
|
|
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
Oooh waooooooo waooooooo
|
(repeat to fade)
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Phantom Limb
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Tourniquet |