| Smokey eyes, are you feeling good?
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| For now, you’re here with me
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| Seems like we’ve waited long enough
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| For someone else to make us feel complete
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| It’s not a bitter flavor, and it’s not a sweeter drink
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| I’m scared to ask you if you would do the same for me
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| Smokey eyes; |
| that’s your name, isn’t it?
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| At least that’s what I call you
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| When I call you, do you shake the way I shake
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| When I call to say I’m through?
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| «No, I shake the way you do at shows
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| So people know you’re cool
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| Violently, but still
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| Controlled enough to screw»
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| So help me make amends with all my friends
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| Most other people are just dead ends
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| There’s nothing worse than making friends
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| Sticky thighs, are you wild now
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| Or just a memory?
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| Some people want to be your friend
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| Some people just want to be free
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| And the worst thing about me
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| Is that I’m somewhere in between
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| I might miss you
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| But I’m still trying to get clean
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| So help me make amends with all my friends
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| Most other people are just dead ends
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| There’s nothing worse than making friends
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| You’ve had enough to drink, you know you’re
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| Drowning in the flavor of cough syrup and Vicodin
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| You’ve got the bitter flavor down, so
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| Dab the sweeter drink on a napkin, then
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| Hold it up to your mouth so you can sleep
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| Quiet lies that you’re telling to
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| Those black and screaming skies
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| I hope you’re walking around campus
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| Contemplating your own smallish size
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| This is not what all my idols told me college would be like
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| I hope someday you learn to take your own advice
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| So help me make amends with all my friends
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| Most other people are just dead ends
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| There’s nothing worse than making friends |