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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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I’m crawling down a space
Within my hidden eye I’m happy to be there But the other four are jealous The lights are being shut They committed suicide last week I found them hanging over the TV remote With a happy tear between them Sleep is though not one of My priorities If I ever had any I’m on my feet now A candle burns the way Through the waving tunnel On my back I carry my dripping Bag of daily rubbish On the other hand though I’ll never have to wake up early again
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