Why don't you ever want to play?
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I'm tired of this piece of string.
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You sleep as much as I do now, and you
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don't eat much of anything.
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I don't know who you're talking to
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I made a search through every room,
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but all I found was dust that moved
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in shadows of the afternoon.
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And listen,
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about those bitter songs you sing?
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They're not helping anything.
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They won't make you strong.
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So, we should open up the house.
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Invite the tabby two doors down.
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You could ask your sister, if
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she doesn't bring her Basset Hound.
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Ask of things you shouldn't miss:
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tape-hiss and the Modern Man,
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The Cold War and Card Catalogues,
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to come and join us if they can,
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for girly drinks and parlor games.
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We'll pass around the easy lie
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of absolutely no regrets,
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and later maybe you could try
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to let your losses dangle off
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the sharp edge of a century,
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and talk about the weather, or
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how the weather used to be.
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And I'll cater
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with all the birds that I can kill.
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Let their tiny feathers fill
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disappointment.
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Lie down;
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lick the sorrow from your skin.
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Scratch the terror and begin
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to believe you're strong.
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All you ever want to do is drink and watch TV,
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and frankly that thing doesn't really interest me.
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I swear I'm going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood
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if you don't stop the self-defeating lies you've been repeating
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since the day you brought me home.
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I know you're strong.
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-----------------
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Plea From A Cat Named Virtue
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The Weakerthans |