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Le Facteur

This song is by Cecil Otter.

Do you feel like no one needs you?
Do you feel like all the joy is gone?
When a bitter dream, cracks through your grinning mask:
Look beyond the shattered pieces,
And clear the wreckage.


I got a closet full of broken legs,
That I don't wanna stand on.
It's planned wrong,
It's like, "I don't understand Mom."
The same sad song and dance gone awry,
On demand. On the fly,
Cross the land.
By and by, ride or die.
Left high and dry, run into the sandbar.
Praying for a high tide, or a run-in with the land shark.
A landmark, anything to signify a hope,
That I'll be going back to charting open water.
I can taste it.
Face it, it's time to let the birds out of their cages.
I'm out of my patience, I ain't seen a lighthouse in ages.
Pages are cluttered, I'm undercover.
Wishing for a lover while I'm singing for my supper like:

And she dances like the ocean, by candlelight.
A fan of my devotion, a phantom of the floating opera.
And she honored my system, but I'm the victim.
She brought a pox on my wisdom.

Blood-drunk with an incurable hangover,
And I'm unsure if I'll stay sober.
It's like, I know it ain't over.
Your heart belongs to me now,
But it's certain to change owners.
And it's that strange odor, more than fishy.
It's got me warped and shifty, fishing in a lost cause.
Lock, stock, and two smoking earlobes.
Some third-grade De Niro with a hero complex,
Zeroed in and signing.
And dancing, for the bullets flying at my feet.
While I feed her hunger, she's harassing me.
But I turn it around. Casually,
Light a match and watch her laugh-factory burn to the ground.

She holds that pose, where no grass grows.
Just a cold black rose, on an old back road.
She holds that pose, where no grass grows.
Just a cold black rose, on an old back road.

And she dances like the ocean, by candlelight.
A fan of my devotion, a phantom of the floating opera.
And she honored my system, but I'm the victim.
She brought a pox on my wisdom.
And she dances like the ocean, by candlelight.
A fan of my devotion, a phantom of the floating opera.

Why should we be at such desperate hast to succeed?
And At such desperate enterprises?
Look beyond the shattered pieces,
And clear the wreckage.

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