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Someday I'll find your rotting bones |
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Oh my golden old friend it's so hard to let go |
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While time is drifting like the ice in the hearts of the bergs |
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Drifting beneath the northern lights |
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Lonely is the town |
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And dark is the dusk in the city's bloodshot eyes |
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There was hardly a sound |
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But for the feathers of vultures beating the ground |
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We are only slaves to our ghostly arms and legs |
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Dancing in our graves |
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And laying in the ruins of this golden age |
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I worked in the fields in a dignified way |
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But my pride was just another agent of decay |
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You were my song when you ripped your pretty head |
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And let the laughter fly like you were burning your bread |
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Hold the dogs at bay, your laughter was the love that ran today |
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I tried to wield a greater blade |
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But all you lions can keep your bloody pride |
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We are only slaves to our master's memories |
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Staggering through the days to yield the seed of the golden age |
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When we were young we said we'd never play the game |
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With our handles of wine and blood stained blazers |
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Well time now has surely passed us by |
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And I remember our school but little of our crimes |
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Oh my dear brothers what were your names? |
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And what was the nature of our glorious anger? |
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The sound we fear is only our day |
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Creeping behind us to another stranger |
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We are only slaves to our distant youths and coming graves |
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Let them say I was a hard working stiff and sand of the golden age |