| Oh, how I feel for the sky
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| Overused by poetry and rhymes
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| It’s in the sentence that follows
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| «We stayed up all night»
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| Oh, shouldn’t it concern me
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| That we shrink beauty to fit in our minds?
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| Don’t have to listen to the whole song
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| To know what’s in the third line
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| Tell me should I feel right, tell me should I feel fine
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| About tossing the meaning for the sake of the rhyme
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| But aren’t we good at turning beauty into clichés?
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| Oh, how I feel for the lonely girl
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| Quickly made into a woman by the world
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| They combed sense through her hair
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| Straightening out her curls
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| While you’re waiting for someone to see you
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| You make fast friends with abuse
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| And you’ll do just about anything it tells you to
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| But I’ll never feel right, I’ll never feel fine
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| About shaping the meaning to fit in the rhyme
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| Changing the human into what sells and buys
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| But aren’t we good at turning beauty into clichés?
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| It’s never, ever so alphabetical
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| You go out of order and they call you heretical
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| And you just said what nobody had time to hear
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| Pretending the truth isn’t explicit
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| Won’t censor the people affected by it
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| It’s like the first time you ever heard real music in your ears
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| It’ll never be enough, it’ll never measure up
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| Turning the depth of the ocean to the size of a cup
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| But aren’t we good at turning beauty into clichés?
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| It’ll never make sense, if you make sense of it
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| All the things that make you cry out of happiness
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| But some things are just better left unexplained
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| But aren’t we good at turning beauty into clichés? |