| These are not thieves come to take your ruby ring
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| They are not ghosts with tales too long
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| It’s the sound of dancing of many legged things
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| That gather your tears from off the ground
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| Our home is a feast love moving from the land
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| We’re swaying swamp reeds in the sand
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| It’s a cold feeling that hangs about our bones
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| When we ride the death’s head waters like leaves
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| Take my arrow, the last one I got
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| Wait for the wind to take your shot
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| Maybe tomorrow you’ll leave another tombstone
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| Made of sand and moss
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| Here’s my teeth, mama, do you want them back
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| To tear the woven web and wires that bind you?
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| I killed a man and I’d kill a country full
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| To keep the rusted boat beneath your feet
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| Our days are numbered too but not outnumbered yet
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| While I see you laughing at the sun
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| The stars lay on your naked skin, the moon was on your breast
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| When a hail of arrows fell upon us
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| Take my shell of buckshot the last one I got
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| Wait for the wind and take your shot
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| Maybe tomorrow we’ll leave two sunken tombstones
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| With the silt and moss
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| Can you take aim at my enemies?
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| I can’t see them anymore
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| I will fire blindly into the trees and hope I hit someone’s god
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| Or three of some kind of ghost
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| These are our times, mama, made of blood and bone
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| Furious misfortune is upon us
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| We had a run of luck and ran it to the ground
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| It calls our lives from the darkness
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| I see you with burning eyes, burning with my tears
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| I hate, I hate to see your fear
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| I’ll leave a hundred bodies rotting in the sun
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| And when my final bullet flies I’ll be gone
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| I’ll be with my love upon the Styx river |