| fame throwa pass out the gold
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| the diamond watch, the last reward
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| all the things we had before
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| you sold us out and took it all
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| head-borne cries from zenith sluts
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| astral rites from dead-end ruts
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| these ends are sick-end wars
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| these ends was sick-end wars
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| it’s one of our nation’s spies
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| it’s one of our first recruits
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| I click with her leather thighs
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| it’s one of our first recruits
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| how can you know
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| in the distance lies a grower
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| nee roudolph king of fame throwa
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| son of groupie, red-worn sexan
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| spent his cash convincing us that the desert was a starscape
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| and took our lives for a satellite so we could cry
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| naked, naked foul
|
| it’s one of our nation’s spies
|
| it’s one of our first recruits
|
| I click with her leather thighs
|
| it’s one of our first recruits |