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THE AGE OF THE PARANOIA |
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Here comes the paranoia |
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Here comes the pityful joy |
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We used to sing when we were happy |
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like the pigs in the poke |
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My baby's gonna take me out dancing |
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Here comes the paranoia |
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I feel it everywhere |
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Supersonic, catatonic patterns in between despair |
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of everything pure in this world |
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And it's hard not to be seen |
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when you're rushing down the stream |
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So if you hear me don't you panic |
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It's all swell |
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They're going to take us away from here |
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I know the end is near |
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Here comes the paranoia |
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Gunshots, mockery chants, pineapples, porcupines |
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and Pasadena pillows of kashmere skin |
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to make me feel all right |
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Don't forget the tranquilizers |
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ice cream, crackers and care |
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NyQuils, a bottle of tequila |
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and a head for my hair |
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And it's hard not to be seen |
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when you're rushing down the stream |
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So if you hear me don't you panic |
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It's all swell |
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They're going to take us away from here |
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I know the end is near |
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Ready to take the blow! |
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Here comes the paranoia |
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Lonely days of joy and laughter |
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added up in the equation |
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I can see the substance of it all |
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Beyond the paranoia, white is turning black |
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everytime I stare into the TV |
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karma supernova is looking back |