| I am not a psychic
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| And this is not your ordinary love song
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| There wasn’t any sign, it was out of my control
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| But you’re back into the dirt now, no one could predict this
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| Well, I wish it wasn’t you, and I wish it wasn’t so
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| I wish it wasn’t all so simple
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| But it is, and it’s one hell of a gut spill
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| It’s unsettling: unidentified sirens, nullified free will
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| Meting out process, mummified concepts
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| Now death is a couple clocks off
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| You left us meddling with trivial prizes and an unsurprising loss
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| I can see the outcome but cannot describe it
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| I am not a psychic, all I do is sing
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| I am not a prophet, I am not a king
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| I am not your third eye, I am not a thing
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| I’m another man’s strategy in a Hobson’s choice
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| Just a bad path, Colin jumps off the balcony
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| But the fact of the matter is this is not the only bad path that’s happening
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| I see a mundane misery where I get up like it’s nothing
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| Although it’s 5AM and every day the same rain keeps coming
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| Nothing to figure out, but at least I got my coffee
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| I am a one-line drawing, disconnected at the spot where the stencil popped up
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| As the paper under it suddenly shifted
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| See me pulling at the lights
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| In the blood moon, I’m coming for my pension
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| I am not a psychic
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| Inside of me there’s a bypass mechanism, I get triggered often
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| I am an idiot, I’m running out of options
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| I’m in the wheat fields cutting off attachments
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| This honeysuckle tucked up under my tongue cos I’m all outta fucks
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| The lunatic is on the grass, and I’m coming up close
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| As I fumble through my jacket pockets for cash
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| And there’s not a thing with me but the memory I wear on my brow
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| It escalated quickly
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| We were changing, and I’m barely recognizable now
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| I’m a cleaned-out gallery
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| Nothing of value, I auctioned off all I had to offer
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| Without a thought it took all of me
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| It threw me on the ground, and it tried to me make me break
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| The mistake of the century
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| Still in the midst of its making
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| Go on try to stop it, not many would dare
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| You’ll try another remedy
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| Exacerbated by the thoughts and prayers, it’s all talk
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| Cos modern society is such an unwelcoming place
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| Where it’s frowned upon to walk around with flowers in your hair
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| And everyone’s an enemy but no one really cares
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| Tell me, there anybody out there? |
| I can settle for the Delphic
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| I’m in need of advice
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| And I am not a psychic
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| Someone, tell me what’s next but I bet it’s gonna be another crisis
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| In the dream world, I find myself struggling
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| To bring into focus another face
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| Now give it to me straight. |
| What’s the right move?
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| And which is the mistake?
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| I am not a psychic. |
| I can see the future
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| But time is moving backwards inside of a computer
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| I am a computer
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| Everything that’s happened will happen in the future
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| If it even happens, it’s happening in pieces
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| Someone, tell the processor to delete this or maybe just
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| Print another path this time
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| It’s a best guess, a window into the past
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| The past is uncertain. |
| It’s hard to prove it happened
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| I lost the information
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| And the past is a fiction except on paper copies
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| I am not a medium, I do not know what happened
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| You can take me to the garret and I’ll paint it nice and pretty
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| But I do not like excitement
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| I can show you what I mean, I can put in a poem
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| I can put in a riddle but I still am not a psychic |