Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare
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We?e just pissing on the grave of what went on before
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And everyone invents the world the day that they were born
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Something? going on here and it? going on without me
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I? standing on the precipice and counting all my recipes
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I? sick and tired of paying homage to the altar
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Of the things that went before me when I wasn? born to be there
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Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare
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We?e just pissing on the grave of what went on before
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And everyone invents the world the day that they were born
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There? a painting of my lover in the corner
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She? taken off her clothing and she? standing in the rain
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Seems like she? beckoning for me to come and join her
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But she? trapped inside a painting and I? running out of patience
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I sip a pint of beer and marvel at the magic
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I must be as drunk as Mister Marlowe in his prime
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I stumble through the shambles of my own imagination
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?ause the poet of tomorrow will be just as drunk as I am
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Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare
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We?e just pissing on the grave of what went on before
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And everyone invents the world the day that they were born
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Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare
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We?e just pissing on the grave of what went on before
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And everyone invents the world the day that they were born
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Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare...
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Every Poet Wants to Murder Shakespeare
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Bad Examples |