| Collecting pieces of my family
|
| In an old pillow case
|
| This one has a skull
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| But it don’t have a face
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| These look like the arms of father so strong
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| And the ring on this finger
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| Means my Grandmother’s gone
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| Here’s some legs in a pile
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| Where my sister once played
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| Here’s some mud made of blood
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| And these teeth are decayed
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| The ear of my brother
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| The hand of a friend
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| And I just can’t
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| Put them back together again
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| Pick up the bones
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| And set them on fire
|
| Follow the smoke going higher and higher
|
| Pick up the bones
|
| And wish them goodnight
|
| Pray them a prayer and turn out the light
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| There are stains on the floor
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| Where the kitchen once stood
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| There are ribs in the fireplace
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| Mixed with the wood
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| There are forces in the air
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| Ghosts in the wind
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| Some bullets in the back
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| And some scars on the skin
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| There were demons with guns
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| Who marched through this place
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| Killing everything that breathed
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| They’re an inhuman race
|
| There are holes in the walls
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| Bloody hair on the bricks
|
| And the smell of this hell
|
| Is making me sick
|
| Pick up the bones
|
| And set them on fire
|
| Follow the smoke going higher and higher
|
| Pick up the bones
|
| And wish them goodnight
|
| Pray them a prayer and turn out the light
|
| Pick up the bones
|
| And set them on fire
|
| Follow the smoke going higher and higher
|
| Pick up the bones
|
| And wish them goodnight
|
| Pray them a prayer and turn out the light
|
| Now maybe someday
|
| The suns gonna shine
|
| Flowers will bloom
|
| And all will be fine
|
| But nothing will grow
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| On this burnt cursed ground
|
| Cuz the breath of the death
|
| Is the only sound |