| You took your headphones off and said
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| You’ve got this aching in your neck
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| It’s in a blind spot, between your shoulders and your head
|
| «I'm not an expert» I replied
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| «But darling, you never sit up straight
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| Or it’s from contaminated chicken wings and steak
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| Or what about improper insulation
|
| Or some sort sort of post-traumatic reaction
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| Or even a rare mutation in your DNA?»
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| You’ve got a pension plan and a cross on a chain
|
| But oh that pain won’t go away
|
| You’ve got a Volvo van and a house on your name
|
| But you can feel it every day
|
| You say it’s all been investigated
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| But that’s nothing, nothing seems to work
|
| And now you’re feeling sorry for your ancestors
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| All their wars and sacrifices
|
| Man, that woman throwing herself under a horse
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| While you believe in the affects of lavender
|
| You’ve got a cyanide pill if you ever fall ill
|
| But no, it’s not that bad just yet
|
| You got a gun in your bed and a license to kill
|
| But you won’t hold it to your head
|
| There was silence, we were squinting
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| The refigerator kept on buzzing
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| Or was it something with the microwave?
|
| «Well, that’s dubious» I whispered
|
| «But I’m afraid it doesn’t make a difference
|
| The Universe don’t care about us any way»
|
| You’ve got a pension plan and a cross on a chain
|
| But oh that pain won’t go away
|
| You’ve got a Volvo van and a house on your name
|
| But you can feel it every day |