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In the shadows of the night come the friends of fantasy dancing forward toward |
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The dawn, wrapped in coats of vanity. in the closets in the home hang the toasts |
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Of days gone by, breaking every haunted scheme confusing thoughts with fantasy. |
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This is the modern world, this is the modern world, this is the modern world. |
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In the backrooms where they wait, keeping time so patiently, playing cards and |
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Casting lots, sit the last of judgement's [all]? in their confusion to deceive, |
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They miss the point so handily, filling every secret need. they succeed perfectly. |
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This is the modern world, this is the modern world, this is the modern world. |