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Sad that we have to grow old,
With catalogue stuff from the phone,
Living off songs that we wrote.

Sad that imagination it fades,
Because everyone must get paid,
So that catalogue stuff can get made.
Sad that we have to grow old,   With catalogue stuff from the phone,   Living off songs that we wrote.      Sad that imagination it fades,   Because everyone must get paid,   So that catalogue stuff can get made.
 
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