| Milemarker twenty-seven says we’re on the way to Heaven
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| And I smile at the passenger seat
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| Forty miles from Chicago
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| There is snow on the windshield
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| And you’re downtown dragging your feet
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| Now I’m circling the block around Union Central Station
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| And there are bullets flying into the car
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| It’s the same as it’s always been
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| It’s the same as it’s always been
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| Two-hundred miles from Chicago:
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| There is blood on the windshield
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| And I am reeling as you gather your things
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| I said I don’t know what to do anymore
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| As if I knew what to do before
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| I can fuck up almost anything
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| I don’t think that I would exactly call it love
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| But it’s dripping down my consciousness
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| Missus, you’re slipping down my lungs
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| I want to build you a protest out of sticks and rocks
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| I find in the backyard behind the house you grew up in
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| In loving memory of all our nonconformity
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| I want to sing you a signal that reaches only the ears
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| Of young disenfranchised straight white boys
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| Because that would feel normal, and none of this does
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| I don’t think that I would exactly call it love
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| But it’s dripping down my consciousness
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| As you’re slipping down my lungs
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| So save it for a rainy day and maybe then you’ll see
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| That I am like the earth, old man, there’s no way around me
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| But even in my dreams
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| I still don’t know the difference between
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| What it is I want and what it is I need
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| I wanna see you be brave
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| I wanna see you surviving
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| I wanna see both of us
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| Prospering and thriving separately
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| I want the catharsis of knowing
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| Something bad’s about to happen
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| But also knowing that I can’t do anything about it
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| Because your new house just don’t shut
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| Quite like the one you grew up in used to
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| I wanna come and visit
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| I wanna see this through, but
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| I never will because you’re just not what I need
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| And I am just not what you want
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| Though you’re in everyone I meet and
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| We’ll say fuck the banks but we’ll still use them every day
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| And when we fight amongst ourselves
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| The banks will say «Okay
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| Have you been spending all your capital on causes you deem just?
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| You keep doing what you can, we’ll keep doing what we must.»
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| So despite what you have learned
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| In songs for which you’d take a bullet
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| You won’t find objective truth
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| In a final rhyming couplet
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| A couplet, a couplet, a couplet… |