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The streets here are run by crows |
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Everyone knows, nobody knows |
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They take a shiny truth in the beak |
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To feed the young it's histories |
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Straight from the horses mouth |
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To the ones of your babies |
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The river runs with wings of drought and disease |
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The gulls have never seen the sea |
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Because they live in the city |
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The pigeons need to have a name |
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For the pattern of leaving |
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The sparrows have no place to speak |
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For if they did they would not say |
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The way you build your neighborhood is a shallow farce |
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What does it mean when the crows shoot down from above |
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What does it mean for crows |
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To investigate themselves and find the crime is not a crime |
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In their hands anymore |
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And now I know |
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That the game of node was a uniform that has been designed |
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by the proper gun |
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and they're watchin' me |
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With a mindly eye |
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Yes they're watchin' me |
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With a mindly eye |