The political is personal
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A knife that cuts both ways
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A thousand tiny cuts
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Every call you put on hold is flashing, waiting to resume
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Your faithful correspondent is full of joy today
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There are ripples that will land on shores we’ll never see
Don't sacrifice yourself on the altar of narrative
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The things we don’t say
Gonna take this metaphor and run run run run
Look at us all spinning around in these mortal forms
The one where I tell you why it’s called Figs for Breakfast
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And there's one waiting for you at the end of this newsletter
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