| If I’d left my hands a resting
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| Upon your sweet hips as you sway
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| Oh I’m sure, sure as dust will swirl like wool
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| I will meet death that way
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| When I pray lord, for salvation
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| And I wait like some old crocodile
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| Will salvation put it’s head down to drink
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| Leaving me with dried blood on my smile
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| My smile
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| When the ring slips, from my fingers
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| And the cloth on my back turns to brown
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| Brush the hair back from my nose to my ears
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| So I look smart while she’s looking down
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| Should a dream come, lightly to me
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| And soothe me in sickness I lay
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| Through that dream she I take pictures of her
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| Oh I know I’ll meet death that way
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| Oh I know I’ll meet death that way
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| Hey hey |