| They call holidays an option for a reason
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| I heard you’re coming back to life just for the fourth
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| I’ve been catching all your ghosts for every season
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| I pray to god you won’t come back here anymore
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| do you pray with him, too?
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| They should deliver all my blessings in small brown paper handbags near the
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| porch
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| I wished I’d known that you were bleeding while I sat and watched you reading
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| with the lord
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| I read with him, too
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| When you look at me
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| I’ll be digesting your legs
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| 'Cause I can hardly see
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| what’s in front of me these days
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| and those days, too.
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| I’ve got to take what I’m making
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| and turn it into something
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| I’ve got to take what I’m making
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| and turn it into something
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| for you
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| I’ve got to break what I’m making
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| and turn it into nothing
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| I’ve got to break what I’m making
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| and turn it into nothing
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| for you
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| When you look at me
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| I’ll be digesting your legs
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| 'Cause I can hardly see
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| what’s in front of me these days
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| and those days, too.
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| God, where have you been?
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| God, where have you been?
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| God, where have you been?
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| God, where have you been?
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| God, where have you been?
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| God, ah God, where have you been?
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| God, my God, my God, where have you been?
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| God, where have you been?
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| God, where have you been? |