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My death is like |
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a swinging door |
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a patient girl who knows the score |
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whistle for her |
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and the passing time |
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My death waits like |
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a bible truth |
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at the funeral of my youth |
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weep loud for that |
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and the passing time |
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My death waits like |
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a witch at night |
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and surely as our love is bright |
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let's laugh for us |
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and the passing time |
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But whatever is behind the door |
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there is nothing much to do |
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angel or devil I don't care |
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for in front of that door |
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there is you |
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My death waits like |
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a beggar blind |
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who sees the world with an unlit mind |
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throw him a dime |
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for the passing time |
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My death waits |
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to allow my friends |
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a few good times before it ends |
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let's drink to that |
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and the passing time |
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My death waits in |
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your arms, your thighs |
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your cool fingers will close my eyes |
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let's not talk about |
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the passing time |
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But whatever is behind the door |
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there is nothing much to do |
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angel or devil I don't care |
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for in front of that door |
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there is you |
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My death waits |
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among the falling leaves |
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in magicians, mysterious sleeves |
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rabbits, dogs |
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and the passing times |
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My death waits |
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among the flowers |
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where the blackish shadow cowers |
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let's pick lilacs |
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for the passing time |
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My death waits in |
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a double bed |
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sails of oblivion at my head |
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pull up the sheets |
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against the passing time |
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But whatever is behind the door |
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there is nothing much to do |
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angel or devil I don't care |
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for in front of that door |
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there is you |