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Fake yer death, if you need to |
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To afford distractions from the living, oh |
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You can make a body out of plaster soaked in your own blood |
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Then leave the body in your bed |
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Covered with the sheet like you were murdered in your sleep |
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You can burn your house down and leave some bones |
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Make sure the bones look something like your own |
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Dig them up |
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Steal them from the grave of someone your age |
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You take these bones and place them |
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Inside the plaster soaked in your blood |
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Then leave the body in your bed |
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Covered with the sheet like you were murdered in your sleep |
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You can burn your house down and leave some bones |
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Make sure the bones look something like your own |
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Should our little crime go amiss |
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Shall they see the bodies are not flesh? |
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We wait until they're buried |
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Until we rest, my love, until we rest |
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And we can hide in the room like we've always wanted to |
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To work on what we love, to work on what we love |
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We won't tell anyone we're not dead, so |
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We can hide away to work on what we love |
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Until we rest, my love, until we rest |