| In my dreams I have seen
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| tales beyond the extreme,
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| in the land of the obscene
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| some find shelter.
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| God gave back his sanity clause
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| — get your friend a dress with claws
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| and holes to show the flaws
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| — Oh, he’s writing another lovesong.
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| Pardon me, I don’t wanna see,
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| siamese centerfold’s buzzing me.
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| Oh no, I don’t wanna know
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| no siamese freakshow, no.
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| Mummy nun, policeman stunts
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| clockwork writing hard-on songs
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| and curly tales with nothing on,
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| — Maybe I’m getting old.
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| Don’t wanna know where it’s done,
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| Don’t wanna know what songs they’ve sung,
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| just wanna wake up and be happy
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| that I’m still young.
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| Pardon me, I don’t wanna see,
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| siamese centerfold’s buzzing me.
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| Oh no, I don’t wanna know
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| What’s going on below
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| (where the lights are low
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| and there’s no place to go)
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| downstairs at the siamese floorshow.
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| Pardon me, I don’t wanna see,
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| siamese centerfold’s buzzing me.
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| Oh no, I don’t wanna know
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| no siamese freakshow, no.
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| I’ve never felt such great distress
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| but the lowest crime can become success.
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| Who else would call them lover, say?
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| Who else would put their back so straight?
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| But oh, the girl she said she came for the dancin'… |