Must've been on mushrooms when you wrote that pile of junk.
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Got rock candy brains and that head of yours, full of holes...
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Terry cloth's about the only comfort I'm allowed...
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What with all the rain and this house of yours...
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Full of holes...
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I'm about through being your plaything...
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I'm about through being your gin...
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I'm about through being your water...
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Do you want to spend another night under the porch?...
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We could light a candle and this rotten wood up in flames...
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Your orange fingers are glowing hot...
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I think your sneaker's on fire...
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Up in flames...
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One breath after lights out...
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The rest under night's spell...
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Rock Candy Brains
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Kristin Hersh |