| Young and wild and free
|
| and full of fantasy we search the summer
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| to find a friend.
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| Take us higher, whether it’s arson or it’s wildfire,
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| We try to catch the ashes as they fly away.
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| Wicked ways, they swell a mile high
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| yet all of us still want to ride.
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| And it’s a left turn to the right job,
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| the wrong man and the ______,
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| and these wild eyes.
|
| And it’s a good look at the last straw
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| the bad girls and the sweet talk
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| and their wild eyes, these wild eyes.
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| Cut the ropes, don’t settle in,
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| Ditch the guidelines and skim the skylines
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| For an offering.
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| Reckless ways and fickle crazes
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| become yesterday’s forgotten and abandoned,
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| and lost along the way.
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| The blindness is still blindness today.
|
| And it’s a left turn to the right job,
|
| the wrong man and the ______,
|
| and these wild eyes.
|
| It’s a good look at the last straw
|
| the bad girls and the sweet talk
|
| and their wild eyes, these wild eyes.
|
| Blindly give excitement when
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| They’ve clearly lost the way
|
| Swing away.
|
| La la, la la, la la, la la, la la
|
| La la, la la, la la, la la, la la
|
| La la, la la, la la, la la, la la
|
| And it’s a left turn to the right job,
|
| the wrong man and the ______,
|
| and these wild eyes.
|
| It’s a good look at the last straw
|
| the bad girls and the sweet talk
|
| And their wild eyes, these wild eyes.
|
| these wild eyes, these wild eyes
|
| these wild eyes, these wild eyes |