| Stomps her shadow to the sidewalk
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| In the cigarettes and ash
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| Kicks her shadow through the tall grass
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| In the fallen nests and trash
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| Her shadow walks behind her
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| Follows her into a cab
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| And she holds it underwater
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| Picking at it like a scab
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| Huh!
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| I kiss her in the stairway
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| Shadow spilling down the steps
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| Run my fingers through her blonde hair
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| Must have dyed it while I slept
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| I stumble home and turn the lights on
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| Watch it scurry between her knees
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| And I see it when she’s talking
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| Hear it changing how she speaks
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| Out west shadows are squirming
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| In hot cars and dry riverbeds
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| Writhing on an ugly statue
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| Shattered stained glass ‘round its head
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| Jack’s smiling in the dark now
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| Writing things that he can’t see
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| And the words that he can’t read
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| Say: «The Door Between Her Teeth»
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| The old man’s in his mansion
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| On his hill filed up with bones
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| Sees his shadow stretching over town
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| Rolls his eyes back and moans
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| José rots in pieces
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| Between three Chokecherry trees
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| Their shadows interlock like fingers
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| On a grave littered with forties
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| Their shadows interlocked like fingers
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| Making sure he’ll never leave
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| Their shadows interlocked like fingers
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| Making sure he’ll never leave
|
| Yeah |