| I’m fascinated with the collection of bad facts
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| I gather up data
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| Performing performative acts
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| And I try to relax by concentrating on my breathing
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| But then I begin to buckle
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| Because I’ve been having trouble speaking
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| Come talk to me
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| I assume the same of you, so speak freely my G
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| Most people I meet I meet at sponsored happy hours
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| Or unaffordable meals
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| Tell me, which way’s out?
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| I cannot feel a thing
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| Just put me down
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| I’m sorry for the curare-dipped dart in my neck
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| For a decade I been at the same party
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| And there’s some norms I’m starting to forget
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| And I never once dreamed. |
| My whole life seems to be
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| A drawn-out re-enactment of the absent space
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| Between a light’s blinking
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| I’m fragile in the face of my own nothingness
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| Like a failed acting career
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| Cut and paste me into late night infomercial guest spots
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| Appearances in retellings of sci-fi novel plots
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| Cuddled up into the cosmos, I’m cozy in juggernauts
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| Waterboarded on suburban marble kitchen counter tops
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| I don’t vote or pay taxes, I’m an incapacitated astronaut
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| And I’m not the one who started this
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| Pretty soon I’ll be sleeping in on Saturdays
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| Subjected to wage garnishments
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| «I miss doing ratchet shit with ratchet friends.»
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| Now with so much of the past behind me
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| If I come back after I die, I want to be reborn in the 90's
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| I’m a creature of the 80's
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| That means I got one finger on the pulse
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| The other nine all carpel tunneled and twitching crazy
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| George, I only made this album
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| So you could see I never gave up rapping
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| It’s just all changed somehow
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| Like you and me
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| The process has been taxing
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| And I can barely see you now
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| But I see you in the flower bed where you’re laughing
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| This is X-47 to the captain
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| Can you tell us what’s happening? |