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You try to tell us that image is nothing but sell it to us for the right price The clown's toy balloons are getting no laughs Cut loose your demons on paper and ink Smashing that glass and slicing your arm Is this ironic to turn on yourself? Wrinkled paper mutants scare them away Something's not right here Nothing's OK They'd sell the blue from the sky They'd sell the light from your eyes From Letras Mania