What gives this mess some grace unless it's kicks, man
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Unless it's fictions, unless it's sweat or it's songs?
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What hits against this chest unless it's a sick man's hand
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From some midlevel band? He's been driving too long
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On a dark windless night, with the stereo on
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With the towns flying by and the ground getting soft
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And a sound in the sky, coming down from above
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It surrounds you and sighs and is whispering of
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What pulls your body down, and that is quicksand
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So climb out quick, hand over hand, before your mouth's all filled up
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What picks you up from down unless it's tricks, man?
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When I've been fixed I am convinced that I will not get so broke up again
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And on a seven day high, that heavenly song
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Punches right through my mind and just hums through my blood
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And I know it's a lie, but I'll still give my love
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Hey, my heart's on the line for your hands to pluck off, oh
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What gives this mess some grace unless it's fiction
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Unless it's licks, man, unless it's lies or it's love?
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What breaks this heart the most is the ghost of some rock and roll fan
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Floating up from the stands with her heart opened up
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And I want to tell her, "Your love isn't lost,"
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And say "My heart is still crossed!"
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I want to scream, "Hey, you're so wonderful!
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What a dream in the dark about working so hard, about growing so stoned
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Trying not to turn off, trying not to believe in that lie all on your own."
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-----------------
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Unless It's Kicks
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Okkervil River |