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It's dark at 4 pm in leeds |
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The steeples pierce the skylight till the last of it bleeds |
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The absent sound of another day as it recedes |
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Into the shadows |
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Until it's nothing |
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Fax papers slipped under the hotel room door |
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Like food for the prisoner or the prospect to the whore |
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Well fed and halfway drunk i ache myself for more |
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Until i'm shadows of myself |
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Until i'm nothing |
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Sixteen black churches burning on the tv |
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All the way from texas to tennessee |
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And a politician locks my eye and says to me |
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There is no crisis here |
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There's no conspiracy |
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I crave inertia every move made so i can stop |
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Whatever this madness is in me spinning like a top |
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On a bed of anxiety over a deep dark drop |
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Down into nothingness |
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Into withoutyouness |
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Was it ever so the evil creep like ivy |
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A toe hold on the stronger half of nature's dichotomy |
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I'm beating back a path through nothing more than pure insistence |
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Until here becomes |
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The distance |
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Hold my head love i'm sick tonight |
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Find the open hole and press your fingers there with all your might |
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Before the last ounce of my spirit bleeds |
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Onto the pristine sheets |
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Of the hotel bed in leeds |