| There’s a clearing behind her mother’s house
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| The other side of Silver Creek
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| We’d drink cheap cherry vodka there late at night
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| Her dog Lobo at our feet
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| Yeah, Crystal was younger than me, but much tougher
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| With a dark smile on her lips
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| She looked so pretty laughing in my puckered face
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| When I pulled up her skirt a bit
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| Lobo took off, she said, «You catch that hound, I’m yours»
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| So I ran
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| Through the trees
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| Chasing sounds
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| Deep into the darkness
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| Then I fled, took Crystal to her room
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| Turned off all the lights
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| I closed the curtains to the sickle moon
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| Said, «There's a strange man outside
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| He was out there swatting lightning bugs
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| On his greasy face and body
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| I could just make out two big pale eyes staring
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| Through streaks of glowing green
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| His pig-face grinning mean»
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| Her smile
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| Fell away
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| And she said
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| «Thought I was going crazy
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| I’ve seen him too
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| And I can’t take it anymore
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| I can’t take it
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| Every night, I see him in the window
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| Those big pale eyes»
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| I stole a machete
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| Hacked up small animals for practice
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| Even when I found Lobo tied in a knot
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| No one believed us
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| Weeks later, I was patrolling the woods
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| Red lights flashing through the branches
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| I dropped the machete, ran to her house
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| And saw two cop cars and an ambulance
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| Lightning bugs glowing in the breeze
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| And I fell to my knees
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| It’s been years now, I moved to the city
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| To get lost in the trash like one of many fruit flies
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| And I found my wife Claire
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| So full of life, so wild, with a smile beyond compare
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| And our first child is kicking strong inside her
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| But sometimes I swear
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| I look at her face, and I see Crystal hiding in there
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| The way her lips pout when she’s brushing her hair
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| I see her everywhere, yeah
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| I tried my best to lose her
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| How I got lost in bars, spilling into streets, too drunk to dream
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| Can’t dream or I’ll see him choking Crystal with her sheets
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| And grinning mean
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| Now it seems like violence is a mist
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| Slowly creeping from the past
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| And I can’t help but feel he’s coming back for me
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| Just last week
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| An old machete was found lodged in some young cop’s gut
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| Right on our street
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| Where I could hear him suffering
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| And I recalled a possum
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| Still trying to run, though I’d cut its head clean off
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| Same as me, I thought
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| Fleeing home when I knew damn well he’d never stop
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| 'Cause I saw those eyes
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| And tonight, as I patrolled the halls
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| Checking all the windows, I saw
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| The green glow of a lightning bug
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| Kissed Claire’s sleeping lips and grabbed my gun, yeah
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| Not gonna run |