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Sirens ring through all the radios, |
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Stars disppear in the clear, |
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and the neighbors on the rooftops. |
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Panic sweeps through all religion |
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a billion odd years of leisure |
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and invention make me hope. |
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|
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I'm running out of lucky stars to count on. |
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I'm running out |
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I'm running out of lucky stars to count on. |
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I'm running out |
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|
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Cars stop dead without a reason |
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and sighs in the sky say |
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"We need a chage of season, now." |
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Why they're here? |
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Well, No One can say. |
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Maybe They're here with the cure, |
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or to end the Great Debate. |
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|
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Sirens ring through all the radios, |
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Stars disppear in the clear, |
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and the neighbors on the rooftops. |
|
|
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I'm running out of lucky stars to count on. |
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I'm running out |
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I'm running out of lucky stars to count on. |
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I'm running out |
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|
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Take me flying. |
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Take me flying now. |
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Take me flying. |
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Take me high. |
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Let it out. |
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Let it out now. |
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Make a Sound that rattles all of us to our bones. |
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Let it out. |
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Let it out now. |
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Make a Sound that rattles all of us to our bones. |