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He don't remember how it got there, he had a number written on his forearm
It spelled "disaster"

He entered the club scene, all hoping, all hoping for dancing
He was looking, a-looking, so stunning, his clothes reflecting light, all right she
She sat, she sat in the backseat, the car was plush but had no heat
And no, not no one was blushing, their technique was so damn right, all right and
He read the note in the black light, he thought he read minds and was not right
That line still made him seem charming, his clothes were shining, shining

Written by:

Modest Mouse

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