You, my love, are allowed to forget
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About the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents house.
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You, my love, are allowed to shed
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The weight of all the years before, like bad disco clothes,
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Save them for a night of dancing, stoned with you lover.
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You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown
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Every night in bottomless wild and naked symbolic dreams.
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You, my love, in sleep can unlock
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Your youth and your most terrifying magic and dreamings for the courageous.
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You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar
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And sing me idiot love songs if you've lost your ability to speak.
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Keep it down to two minutes.
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You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die
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And then live again, more alive and incandescent than before.
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You, my love, are allowed to beat the shit out of your television.
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Choke it's thoughts and corrupt its mind.
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Kill! Kill! Kill! KILL The motherfucker before the song of zombiefied pain and panic and malaise and it's narrow right-winged vision and it's cheap commercial gang rape becomes the white noise of the world.
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Turn about is fair play.
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You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television.
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You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses to those around you and those up in heaven.
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You, my love, are allowed to show your babies how to dance full bodied, starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified.
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You, my love, are allowed to suck in every single endeavor.
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You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket in the New York summertime with the wonder of your own special gift.
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You, my love, are allowed to receive praise,
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You, my love, are allowed to have time,
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You, my love, are allowed to understand,
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You, my love, are allowed to love,
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Woman disobey,
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When little men believe,
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That you, my love, are Rebellion.
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New Year's Eve Prayer
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Jeff Buckley |