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Boiled Frogs
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Old man sits at his desk One year from retirement And he's up for review He's not quite sure what to do Each passing year The workload grows I'm always wishing I'm always wishing too late For things to come my way It always ends up the same And I must be missing I must be missing the point Your signal fades away And all I'm left with is noise So wait up I'm not sleeping alone again tonight There's so much to dream about There must be more to my life Poor little tin man Still swinging his axe Even though, even though His joints are clogged with rust My youth is slipping My youth is slipping away

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