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Simon

This song is by The Impossibles and appears on the compilation album Anthology (1999).

He wakes himself up with a monkey wrench, straightens out his spine,
He does it all the time, every time.
No matter how hard he may scrub, he's just rubbing it in.
He washes his hair with a bar of soap, but it doesn't get it clean.

It's like a smack in the face, or a shot in the arm,
He doesn't appear to help but he doesn't do any harm.
He'd rather just sustain in his comfortable routine,
His comfortable routine and a mad magazine

He's got a ball point pen tattoo on the skin streched across his bones.
There's nothing worse than being in a crowded room,
And feeling all alone
He's got a ball point pen tattoo on the skin streched across his bones.
There's nothing worse than being in a crowded room,
And feeling all alone

Sits on the curb from dusk till dawn, he's peeling off his core,
Ripped up and torn
Its better living through chemistry, it's an escape,
It's a vulnerability, and then the twilight comes

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