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Brazil
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Strange Days
There's a room inside my finger Where ghosts of authors linger There's a little man that whispers In a radio transmitter There's a lady on a spider With a baby's head beside her There's a voice inside my earlobe From a place the sidewalks don't go
These are strange days!
There's a man with an umbrella Who is smoking citronella And he sees fantastic visions Of a world outside my prison There's a fountain full of ashes And a snake beneath the grasses And he's asking everybody Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com What makes them melancholy
These are strange days!
My language is patois Philosophy is in my boudoir My head's in Constantinople And my body's in a bubble I'm a Rosicrucian Lackey In the ministry of Peculiar Things I will tell you my secret But only if you keep it
These are strange days
But enough about me, why don't you tell me about your day?
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