| It ain’t so much the boredom
|
| But the fire in her soul
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| That made her life unbearable
|
| While living in that hole
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| Of her dark surburban nightmare
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| 'Till she went to see the Dead
|
| And the self esteem she valued
|
| Was immediately spent
|
| And she had no one to turn to
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| So she just turned off her mind
|
| She’s a well adjusted wanderer
|
| But all this stuff takes time
|
| On the streets of old Wyoming
|
| There’s a couple from L. A
|
| They are post-environmentalists
|
| Looking for to stay
|
| 'Till their friends all come to join them
|
| In the quest for air to breathe
|
| And when it gets too crowded
|
| They will just pick up and leave
|
| Like they did in New York City
|
| When the coast seemed quite sublime
|
| It don’t take much but money
|
| And money just takes time
|
| Marie is on the lounge chair
|
| Draped around the pool
|
| Avoiding almost anyone who’d
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| Desecrate he cool
|
| It’s the reason she’s attractive
|
| She’s already self abused
|
| And her pride won’t feel the loneliness
|
| That comes with being used
|
| She’s the center of the universe
|
| For which she was designed
|
| Until she wakes up wandering
|
| Why all this stuff takes time
|
| Bill died of a heart attack
|
| Beating up his wife
|
| Now he’s come back as a lesbian
|
| That’s looking for his wife
|
| Who is now a psychoanalyst
|
| That likes to work with plants
|
| Except of course on weekends
|
| When she likes to wear the pants
|
| She’s a leather goddess minister
|
| Who works with the confined
|
| It don’t take much to realize
|
| That all this stuff takes time |