Everyone's got theories
About such and such and more
But I can't see them being worth
The scraps they're scribbled on
And everyone's unhappy
And everyone's afraid
They cram it all up deep inside
But they just keep shakin it
Till they find it's leaked out on the floor
But the thing about the dead is
They've learned just not to care
They see we're re lost and finished
And they're too polite to share.
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