| The rabbit killer left his home for the clough
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| And said goodbye to his infertile spouse
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| Carried air rifle and firm stock of wood
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| Carried night-site telescope light
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| A cemetery overlooked clough valley of mud
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| And the grave-keeper was out on his rounds
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| Yellow-white shirt buried in duffle coat hood
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| Keeping edges out with mosaic color stones
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| Jawbone and the air rifle
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| Who would think they would bring harm?
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| Jawbone and the air rifle
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| One is cursed and one is borne
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| The air rifle lets out a mis-placed shot
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| It smashed a chip off a valued tomb
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| Grave-keeper tending wreath-roots said
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| «Explain, move into the light of the moon»
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| «I thought you were rabbit prey, or a loose sex criminal»
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| Rifleman he say «why'see I get no kicks anymore
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| From wife or children four
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| There’s been no war for forty years
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| And getting drunk fills me with guilt
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| So after eight, I prowl the hills
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| Eleven o’clock, I’m tired to fuck
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| Why’see I’ve been laid off work»
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| The grave-keeper said
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| «You're out of luck
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| And here is a jawbone caked in muck
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| Carries the germ of a curse
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| Of the Broken Brothers Pentacle Church
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| Formed on a Scotch island
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| To make you a bit of a man»
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| Jawbone and the air rifle
|
| Who would think they would bring harm?
|
| Jawbone and the air rifle
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| One is cursed and one is warm
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| The rabbit killer did not eat for a week
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| And no way he can look at meat
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| No bottle has he anymore
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| It could be his mangled teeth
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| He sees jawbones on the street
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| Advertisements become carnivores
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| And roadworkers turn into jawbones
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| And he has visions of islands, heavily covered in slime
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| The villagers dance round pre-fabs
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| And laugh through twisted mouths
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| Don’t eat
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| It’s disallowed
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| Suck on marrowbones and energy from the mainland
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| Jawbone and the air rifle
|
| Who would think they would bring harm?
|
| Jawbone and the air rifle
|
| One is cursed and one is gone |