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down comes the water. down from the sky. every time you suffer. down from your eyes.
and you can blame it all on me.
who knows what you're really thinking? who knows why you really cry? i know my stomach's kind of sinking. i suppose i could tell another lie, like: 'down comes the water. down from the sky. every time you suffer. down from your eyes.'
and you can blame it all on me, if you want to.
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daybreak and wake up. where is your heart? you're feeling for a phantom limb. a cross for you to take up. when can you start? you're out of bed and wandering. but watch out: your vision is all in your head.
put down your pencil. pick up the pace. we're looking for the biggest bang. you're going to get a vengeful slap in the face if you don't tell me everything. but watch out: it's not a race you can win. don't look down: your feet are failing again.
one by one, your ambitions turn to dares. words weigh a ton, but a ton can't take you anywhere. when the feet you planted there get up and waltz right up the stairs, will you be prepared?
bend over backwards. where are you now? you're out of shape. you're upside-down. crammed into corners, plunged underground, you're soft, you're safe, you're lost and found. but lay it down: the heights are all in your head. turn the lights out and fight tomorrow instead.
on and on, all your diction piles in layers. 'a spoonful weighs a ton,' but a ton can't take you anywhere. when the words you thought were there get up and peel right off in pairs, will you even care?
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right away. anything i say i've got to say today, but i'm afraid of confrontation. i'm wide awake. any steps i take i've got to take away, because i'm afraid i've got no place to go.
another day, another time and place i can't quite calculate. i kind of hate that i can't get there. i can't wait. call it fate, but i broke my only other way of taking it too slow.
all we are is what we ever thought aloud. we almost never wrote it down and read it over. panicking, we can't remember what it was or why we ever thought that we'd be so much better off without the dates and records... now we're lost with no place left to go.
right away. anything i say i've got to say today, but i'm afraid of conversations.
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jonathan, just look at this mess we're in: all-perilous, underpinned with a growing flair for our long hair. not again. it's no wonder we've grown so thin; bring all of our prisoners in, mic them up and see if we still care.
our checks, our tropes, our envelopes are in the mail. our backs, our hopes, our floors are sloped, our hearts impaled.
legacies leap out of my ivory teeth; they tongue, hammer, pluck, double-speak, and stop-dead our voices. now what we need is a new rhetorical strategy: a 'point-counterpoint-eulogy' instead of 'pointing at the source of the sound.'
not again, the rent is spent, we're pent-up, bright. but arrogant we waining went without a fight. don't you know 'i told you so' could never hold our boldness back? we're throwing stones, we're young, alone, and we can act.
we dream, we doubt, we scream, we shout that we're not dead. but when in doubt, put records out and bow your head.
jonathan, my temples are caving in. let's never do that again.
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