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PATRICK BATEMAN:
It takes Paul Owen five minutes to die, another thirty to stop bleeding;
I know, because I time it.
Afterwards, still wearing the bloodied raincoat,
I take a cab to Paul's apartment on the Upper East Side.
I let myself in with his keys.
A plan is taking shape in the folds of my brain,
but where should I send Paul on a business trip?
Rome, Amsterdam, Phoenix...

PAUL OWEN AND PATRICK BATEMAN: London!

PATRICK BATEMAN:
I'll send the bastard to England!
His answering machine!

PAUL OWEN: My answering machine!

PATRICK BATEMAN (impersonating PAUL OWEN): "Hi! This is Paul Owen!"

PAUL OWEN (as HIMSELF): Hi! This is Paul Owen!

PATRICK BATEMAN (impersonating PAUL OWEN):
"I'm sorry I'm not here to take your call,
but I'm in London for the next two weeks,
taking the Fisher account to the next level.
If this is something business related,
you can reach me at the office at..."

CHORUS:
We are sinners.
Long-eyed sinners.
We are winners.
Wasted winner.
We are faceless.
Perfect faces.
We fixed the races.
And took our places.

PATRICK BATEMAN:
But I'm clean! I've become clean!
The things I've seen, and still I'm clean.

CHORUS:
Rise and shine, don't waste time.
Head to the terminals, head to the mines.
Present yourself as someone who knows in which direction capital flows.
Make it happen, make it rain, with conjuring and leisure domain.
Flash a smile, bear your teeth, they'll never guess what's underneath...

Text přidala Teri_24

Video přidala Teri_24

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