| The hapless hills of Hollywood
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| Hide halfhearted happiness
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| A hardened heroine hangs her head
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| Hear her hyperventilate
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| Here her hands had hammered home
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| Her half-written history
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| With her heart in her hands
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| Her hands stopped holding on
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| A penny for your thoughts
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| A quarter for the show
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| The truth should turn to rot
|
| Whichever way the wind blows
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| The truth, yes a blonde, despondent from her failures
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| Fury rages claiming innocence lost
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| That spawned chaotic behaviors
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| A handbag and some women’s shoes
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| Hidden on the forest floor
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| Discovered by a hiker on the hill
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| Haphazardly hanging out was her self-destruction
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| And her handwritten history
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| «I'm afraid I’m a coward. |
| I’m sorry for everything.»
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| A penny for your thoughts
|
| A quarter for the show
|
| The truth should turn to rot
|
| Whichever way the wind blows
|
| A penny for your thoughts
|
| A quarter for the show
|
| The truth should turn to rot
|
| Whichever way the wind blows
|
| The truth, yes a blonde, couldn’t give a shit about her failures
|
| Suffering in silence of a chemical imbalance
|
| That spawned erratic behavior
|
| The truth, yes a blonde, yes a blond, yes a blonde
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| Apparent in the night, but absent come the dawn
|
| The truth, yes a blonde, yes a blond, yes a blonde
|
| Apparent in the night, but absent come the dawn
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| Where is the country I came here to find?
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| It’s running its hands through my hair
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| Its borders and boundaries are clearly defined
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| It’s forty-five feet through the air
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| Only the night sky will witness my flight
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| Without so much as a care
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| Out past the margins of all that’s finite
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| Forty-five feet through the air
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| It’s forty-five feet from here to there
|
| It’s forty-five feet through the air
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| Forty-five feet to bliss from despair
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| Only forty-five feet through the air
|
| It’s forty-five feet from here to there
|
| It’s forty-five feet through the air
|
| Forty-five feet to bliss from despair
|
| Only forty-five feet through the air
|
| It’s forty-five feet from here to there
|
| It’s forty-five feet through the air
|
| Forty-five feet to bliss from despair
|
| Only forty-five feet through the air
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| The world rushes past and it’s softly obscured
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| By the quiet and stillness of death
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| Take from me this body
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| It’s all that I have left
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| Floating effortlessly
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| The scent of gardenias in the air
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| A veil should mask her face
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| And her short blonde hair |