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lyrics

It's time for ice cream with Phoebe,
at Denny's in Virginia,
the room at the end of rooms.

tooth hurty in the morning, December,
tour over,
chronic back pain, armchair anthropology;

let's take a dance
behind your eyes.

Liberate us from the madness of reason;
this is no time for thin king thinking.

Embellish your corpse, and someone will love you
in the Pit of Worms.

Your apartment is an ashtray and a bed you sleep in at night;
your kitchen is an ashtray and a microwave you put the cat in.

Let's take a dance behind your eyes;
somebody's home behind your eyes.

The Boy with the Blue Guitar is at war, MIA;
your best friend's a spy for the FB Eye.
The Boy with the Blue Guitar is at war, missing in action;
your best friend's a spy for the FB Eye,
compiling a dossier;

let's take a dance
behind your eyes.

I thought you loved me
in the American convention
of love that doesn't exist;

I imagined myself telling all my friends,
in our churches of insubstantial substances

what an incredible human you were,
until you dropped me like a Silicon Valley success story,

under the inevitable influence of reason.
There’s no time; stop thinking, thin king.

Be yourself, and someone will love you
in the Pit of Worms.

Your existence is an existential crisis from start to finish;
why are you so terrified of me, Amsterdam?

...on the Girl with the Voice of an Angel.

Sing yourself crazy, and someone will love you
in the Pit of Worms;
the Pit of Worms.

credits

from Miracle on Neon Clown Avenue, released August 20, 2022

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Cannonball Statman New York, New York

Romantic punk.

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