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I search for the truth I find no luck.
I search for solace in my friend the rock.
And I have a friend on the telephone.
A crystal and some cash and my tomorrow's known.
Cross my legs and I am one.
With what I was or I am to become.
And I have the stars and some pixie dust.
Oh, and Elvis nights on Thursday and it's a must.
Chorus: Have your every thought just possibly.
Your ideals are a twisted philosophy.
By a man in a suit who loves currency.
Or a woman who is called instability.
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