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I was the first matcAnnotateh struck at the first cremation, you are my shallow grave, I'll tend you as a sexton |
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If you're the casket door that's being slammed upon me, I'll be a plague cross painted on your naked body |
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Well summer sighed and summoned up hail. Dirty in dish rack drips the holy grail |
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May be heartslob but I want 'em to know, cut and shut us like a portmanteau |
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We sit around jus' spitballin', all the witches cackle round my cauldron |
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Recognise the lies from my poker tongue (is it true...?) |
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They say you and me are tautology |
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What grows from the seeds |
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Can you quite believe? |
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Through cracks come the weeds |
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Long time listener, first time caller |
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No need to remind me |
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What death leaves behind me |
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Why must I lie awake, from dusk until the morning, through fear of bein' impaled upon errant mattress spring? |
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Within a waking dream I finally made my heel turn, lived life as Super 8 when you were promised Hilton |
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Propose me as a pardon for sins, led on barbecue I'm burnt offerings |
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I proof-read the Book of Job for the Lord: edit one, League Cup 2004 |
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We, delicate as a filigree, cleared a place for us in the chicory |
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Colosseum blood will dry in the sun (is it true...?) |
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We tread it carefully, we feel around in kid-gloves |
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What death is leaving behind, death leaves behind love |
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We will flower again, I have surely seen it |
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We will flower again |