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Birds are circling above |
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They're called back to a waiting glove |
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Oh, why don't they |
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fly away? |
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Surely they have guessed by now |
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There is no gun to shoot them down |
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And still they stay |
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for what they say |
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Are we killing them with lies? |
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Are they fighting for their lives? |
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Killing them with thoughts? |
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Can we never get enough? |
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Killing them are we killing killing every single feeling? |
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It's a trained response |
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Birds are circling above |
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They're called back to a waiting glove |
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This sordid game |
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It fears my name |
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I have worshiped some false gods |
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I run to them like Pavlov's dogs |
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To hide my shame |
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and fan the flame |
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Are we killing them with lies? |
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Are they fighting for their lives? |
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Killing them with thoughts? |
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Can we never get enough? |
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Killing them are we killing killing every single feeling? |
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It's a trained response |
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We're all preset to reset to |
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DUMB |
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TO DUMB |
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WE'RE ALL PRESET TO RESET TO DUMB |
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WE'RE ALL PRESET TO RESET TO DUMB |
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Somebody told me once |
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Beat them 'til they start to get used to it |
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Next thing they're lining up |
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ARE WE KILLING IT? |
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ARE WE KILLING IT? |
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ARE WE KILLING IT? |
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ARE WE KILLING IT? |
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ARE WE KILLING IT? |
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ARE WE KILLING IT? |
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ARE WE KILLING IT? |
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ARE WE KILLING? |
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ARE WE KILLING? |