I made you these construction paper dolls,
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connected by the hands with tiny little faces,
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and now I'll hang them on the walls
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so you can see the people filling up the spaces.
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I think I am the only one to ever realize that I am
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the only one to realize what's true.
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When all the world is stuck in a jam:
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The sky is not blue.
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I made you this defective little song,
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connected by the chords, connected and melodic,
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and if you think I sing it wrong,
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or if you think it sounds a little too robotic,
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Just let me know. I'll understand, and maybe when I play it next week
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I'll think of you and make it pristine,
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as long as you repeat after me:
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The grass is not green.
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I might have stated what I thought before.
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I might have kept it in, my memory is failing.
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I might have stumbled through the door.
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You might have stared and asked what I had been inhaling.
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I might have blinked. I might have sighed.
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I might have been a has-might-have-been,
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but if you really heard what I said
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you'd understand the mindset I'm in,
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where roses aren't red.
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I'm setting up my tiny little town,
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a Lego set in which I'm planning to retire.
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It's really time I settled down,
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but not before I set everything on fire,
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Put on my boots, and stamp it out.
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The little yellow people don't care.
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They never did, and they never do,
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and yet they seem to speak with their stare.
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They tell me things I can't deny.
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They tell me I'm a sap, I'm a square.
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They tell me things I already knew.
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The greatest of the the secrets they share:
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The sky is not blue.
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-----------------
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Sky Is Not Blue
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Lemon Demon |