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| And here we are just inside And these walls are misconstrued. The asphalt is unfolding Our hands restlessly unglued And by going inside We might just find The knob that's been twisting our heads And by going inside We might just find The hand pulling all the threads We nod at our Eleven dollars and sense Feeling every spacious digit As our shadows intertwine Turn up the dial Volume and tension Lips we'll never miss |