Crying Lightning

Alex Turner

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    Outside the cafe by the cracker factory
    You were practicing a magic trick
    And my thoughts got rude as you talked and chewed
    On the last of your pick and mix

    Said you "you're mistaken if you're thinking that I haven't been called 'cold' before"
    As you bit into your strawberry lace
    And then I flip your attention in the form of a gobstopper
    It's all you had left and it was going to waste

    Your pastime's consisted of the strange
    And twisted and deranged
    And I loved that little game you had called
    'Crying lightning'
    And how you liked to aggravate the ice-cream man on rainy afternoons

    The next time that I caught my own reflection
    It was on its way to meet you
    Thinking of excuses to postpone.
    You never looked like yourself from the side
    But your profile could not hide
    The fact you knew I was approaching your throne.

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    With folded arms you occupied the bench like toothache,
    Stood and puffed your chest out like you'd never lost a war
    And though I tried so not to suffer the indignity of a reaction
    There was no cracks to grasp or gaps to claw

    And your pastime's consisted of the strange
    And twisted and deranged
    And I hate that little game you had called
    'Crying lightning'
    And how you like to aggravate the icky man on rainy afternoons

    Uninviting
    But not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are
    'Crying lightning'

    Your pastime's consisted of the strange
    And twisted and deranged
    And I hate that little game you had called
    Crying lightning
    Crying lightning
    Crying lightning
    Crying lightning

    Your pastime's consisted of the strange
    And twisted and deranged
    And I hate that little game you had called
    Crying

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