| Well, I know you find it hard to smile,
|
| To keep your happiness in style
|
| You pass in silence in the mornin'
|
| You know you shouldn’t ever try to ignore me.
|
| And you look to be pretty nervous
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| Sweaty hands and blood shot eyes.
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| So hard to identify you,
|
| Just a loser in a loser’s disguise.
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| She don’t back down,
|
| And she won’t come around here
|
| Now there’s all this talk about dying
|
| Well I don’t get it, for the life of me.
|
| With your fingernails painted red
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| And your eyes all ready to wed
|
| Decorated from head to toe
|
| Like a magician in a talent show.
|
| She don’t back down,
|
| And she don’t come around here.
|
| An' there’s all this talk about dying,
|
| Well I don’t get it, for the life of me.
|
| So you’ve smoked your last cigarette
|
| Burned coldly on a train from Tibet
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| And broke your last bottle of wine
|
| And unraveled your last ball of twine.
|
| Well, she don’t back down,
|
| She don’t come around here
|
| Now there’s all this talk about dying,
|
| Well I don’t get it, for the life of me.
|
| She don’t back down,
|
| She don’t come around here
|
| Now there’s all this talk about dying,
|
| Well I don’t get it, for the life of me.
|
| Well, I know you find it hard to smile
|
| To keep your happiness in style
|
| You pass in silence in the mornin'
|
| You know you don’t usually ignore me.
|
| Now there’s all this talk about dying,
|
| Well, I don’t get it, for the life of me. |