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Crow's feet are ingrained on my faceAnd I'm living too lateTry to wash the black off my face, but it's ingrainedAnd I'm living too lateSleepless, in-control spleenA green [ace for Millie] must have [stump tripod] in the genesI'm immune to thingsIn my dreamsI saw through the treesO'er the poison river locksFork treacherous would beatBut still my heart it is rockFinally going through old parasite gateBut there's a 24-hour clock watchAnd I'm living too lateThinkSometimes life is like a new bar Plastic seats, beer below parFood with no taste, music gratesI'm living too lateOnce talking was my favourite whileBut now I'm no conversationeerThe thrill is doneMaybe I'm living too longThe daylightI see trouble on the streetsFearing catastrophe to meetWalk down the devil's boulevardBut still my heart is hardThey say the [cellars] were't even blackBut I know they're wrongThink it's one [bin]