I'm not a musician
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Even under my armpits
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And the mustache it takes
You'd come back soon enough
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When I think about it, nothing bandages it
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The gaping hole you left
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It's true that when I think about it
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The session's over, I know, so
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So I let my fingers wander over my keyboard
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I slap my strings instead of your a*s
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I scream with all my being into a piece of wood
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Rather than in your ears that only listen to you
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And you're not the sharpest
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No you're not the craziest
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When you wanna play it like
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It's like and will stay like
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Like what you're not
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When I think about it, nothing bandages it
_____
The gaping hole you left
_____
It's true that when I think about it
_____
The session's over, I know, so
_____
So I let my fingers wander over my keyboard
_____
I slap my strings instead of your a*s
_____
I scream with all my being into a piece of wood
_____
Rather than in your ears that only listen to you
_____
So I let my fingers wander over my keyboard
_____
I slap my strings instead of your a*s
_____
I scream with all my being into a piece of wood
_____
Rather than in your ears that only listen to you
_____
I let my tears run on a crumpled page
_____
Where with my hand I write I hate you and then
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Would I still need, to find north again
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To send you threats, a filthy dead rat?