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By Kevin Devine, i'm running out of things to say to you
this always
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By Kevin Devine, your bearings are shot
and your car'd only work like she
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By Kevin Devine, The afterparty's rockin', girl,
and everybody's dancing for you,
but you're just
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By Kevin Devine, this is the window where
i watched the future start
my pupils
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By Kevin Devine, It’s a brushfire spreading, feeding as it moves
It’s a disappeared
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By Kevin Devine, 1, 2, 3, 4
I was a big bad man
I picked
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By Kevin Devine, I got a sweet tooth
Sunk in a soft spot
That busts
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By Kevin Devine, i quit the carnival and moved next door
thought i'd had
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By Kevin Devine, You’re hot fog
I can feel you and you’re not far
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By Kevin Devine, You’re hot fire
I can feel you and you’re not far
-
By Kevin Devine, a reporter in a jailroom whispering a source to a
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By Kevin Devine, One, two, three, four, one
I could be with anyone
Just while
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By Kevin Devine, you wrestle yourself to the ground
you springboard and kick yourself
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By Kevin Devine, I'm counting out dollars while I limp to your brownstone.
I
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By Kevin Devine, I cried on September 11th
Tear ran down my spine
Like I
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By Kevin Devine, me and my friends
we don't encourage discipline
or really much of
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By Kevin Devine, My brother’s blood boils in my arms
It balls my fingers
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By Kevin Devine, I was consumed with proving you were a liar.
But what
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By Kevin Devine, You probably don't wear your glasses
But you probably need them
-
By Kevin Devine, 40 million refugees with no place on this earth to
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By Kevin Devine, In the hand of God there's a cattle prod
That keeps
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By Kevin Devine, I feel the fog float on, and my heart wants
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By Kevin Devine, It’s a brush fire spreading feeding as it moves
And it’s
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By Kevin Devine, (live at Maxwell's in Hoboken - 01.05.07)
you drag your
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By Kevin Devine, It’s a brushfire spreading feeding as it moves
It’s a disappearing
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By Kevin Devine, It's going straight to my head:
I think I'm falling in
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By Kevin Devine, tonight i'm posed and popping like a peacock. i'm pressing
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By Kevin Devine, The sputter and blink of the streetlamp
Makes you taller, then
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By Kevin Devine, your husband,
he drinks like a writer,
but he writes like a