Put your tears back into your eyes
|
Adjust your hair
|
I am in no mood for theatrics
|
Or fake despair
|
It almost makes me hunger
|
For symbols, signs, and semaphore.
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Subtle shades of metaphor too ingenious to ignore.
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Instead of that you sit there and cry,
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You moan, you lie.
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You crumple like an old piece of tinfoil
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You claim you¡¯ll die.
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What the hell possessed me to ever catch a date with you?
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I should have known that it was wrong
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To trust the judgment of my schlong.
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Put your tears back (your tears back), yeah.
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I hate the way you drool when you talk
|
I hate your clothes.
|
Moses knows his roses and I know
|
It¡¯s time to go.
|
Thirty-Something episodes,
|
Forced amusement at your joes.
|
Daisy chains and yogurt stains
|
Sneaking under windowpanes.
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You think I¡¯m not aware of your script
|
So well rehearsed
|
The close-up camera follows your lipstick
|
Back in your purse.
|
If you were better at it
|
Then maybe we could still be friends,
|
Write and talk and keep in touch
|
As it is I hate your guts!
|
Put your tears back (your tears back) yeah.
|
|
-----------------
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Put 'Em Back
|
Pain (American Band) |