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lyrics

Tommy guard the house, I'm taking off
Keep the dust out of my room
I'll probably be gone for a while
All these things come crashing down like cannon balls
I got the wits knocked out of me, I gotta make sense of it all
or just keep breathing

I've been taking tons of little pills, to make my heavy head fall off
to make my subconscious shut up, but she says theres decisions that i gotta make
and oh, i keep dreaming of a wide open ceiling where we
pull a peter pan and fly our sorry butts back to our old col-de-sac and

dude, i really miss you, yea dude, i really miss you

So now I'm waiting 'til i run out of oxygen
I'm banking on this 2012 thing to resolve
Cause maybe if we kiss the funny face of apocalypse
Oh it would be so relieving if we all stopped breathing thats all
I'm just a juvenile product of culture, and I'm getting older
I just need to sack up and face it but

dude, i really miss you, yea dude, i really miss you

and all the things that we swore off, well they're happening to us now
I know i cant sit quiet, but i don't know what else to do

credits

from Cliché Definitions Of Success, released September 20, 2010

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Making New Enemies California

www.makingnewenemies.org

Art Collective / Utopian Cult /
Soul Posse

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