| When Hollywood runs out of Indians
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| When the bar stars melt and their golden hair turns into glass
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| When Hollywood runs out of Indians
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| When the bubble bursts and the first are come for by the last
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| There’s something in the way you move
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| Makes me catch a cold
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| There’s something in your «too cool for school»
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| When you slide up and down my pole
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| There’s something in the way you look
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| That only casts a shadow
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| When Hollywood runs out of Indians
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| Only the Indians will know
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| A kick in the head, pass it around
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| Begging for a bed, pass it around
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| Pass it around
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| And I’d say what you’d say
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| It makes me feel nothing
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| There’s a car waiting to take me to something
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| At the end of my rope there’s
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| A new world, it’s snowing
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| The globe it starts shaking
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| Is it me not worth knowing?
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| The white coats are melting
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| The snow down our mountains
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| To process the rivers for hallways, and fountains
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| And I’d say what you’d say
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| But it makes me feel nothing
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| Til there’s a man waiting to take me to something
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| That I’m for
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| Hell
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| It looks red in all it’s pictures
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| My sisters sing laments
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| While their skin blisters
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| (take your time, take your time, take your time)
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| Halleluiahs
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| Offered down on the floor
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| Nobody goes above decks
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| No, not no more
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| They say the sun is still shining
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| That you can feel it in your core
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| But I ain’t seen nobody move
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| That weren’t going for the door
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| And I’d say what you’d say
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| Champions of nothing
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| But there’s a car waiting to take me to something
|
| At the end of my rope
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| There’s a new world, it’s glowing
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| The globe it starts shaking
|
| Was it you not worth knowing?
|
| The white coats are melting
|
| The snow down our mountains
|
| To process the rivers for hallways, and fountains
|
| And I’d say what you’d say
|
| But it makes me feel nothing
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| Til there’s a man waiting to take me something
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| That I’m for… |