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作曲 : Will South & Thirteen Senses |
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Red letters on the dashboard, oh what a GAP |
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They pursue us to the deep end and then depart |
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Watch as the cracks in the wall feel pain |
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For only patterns on a snake's back give us genuine fear |
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And I cannot lie, faces drop into the fire |
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I get by all the time on a shelf above the door |
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And it shouldn't be clear but it's not for me to decide |
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It's a delicate degree |
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It's a number I can see |
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Could prison cells be in my brain |
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For they're safe inside the cover of a dirty face |
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And everybody finds a college graduate with joy |
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While I'm happy just sipping tonic water with lemon and lime |
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And I cannot lie, faces drop into the fire |
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I get by all the time on a shelf above the door |
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And it shouldn't be clear but it's not for me to decide |
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It's a delicate degree |
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It's a number I can see |
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You sit at home up late at night |
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When it's beginning to arrive |
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And honestly |
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I don't see the need for any routines |
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I'm all out of sync, I cover my cuts |
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And hope they are fixed before I get hurt again |
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And all this ground beneath my feet |
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Has decided not to crumble into the sea |
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I walked in a house, it smelt of paint |
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And the ceiling it has no trouble with me |
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