| Shoes that no man would want to wear
|
| Slice of life that’s night’s last cold stare
|
| Red fist curled 'round the house
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| Wash away, boy, Shelly’s shoes
|
| Wash
|
| Chocolate power is so crisp
|
| Atomic open house is really here
|
| And we have gone so desperate
|
| Your power knows no bounds
|
| And heavier with time are our shoes
|
| That no man would want to wear
|
| New tread wipes a wet road so dry
|
| (It stings)
|
| Into the borrowed course
|
| Under the dreadful birds
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| Under the singing soil and all those guilty clouds
|
| I have seen too much, wipe away my eyes too much
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| Wipe away my eyes, too much
|
| Wipe away my eyes, too much
|
| Wipe away my eyes, too much
|
| Wipe away my eyes
|
| Wipe away my eyes
|
| Wipe away my eyes
|
| Wipe away my eyes
|
| Wipe away my eyes
|
| Wipe away my eyes
|
| Wipe away my eyes
|
| Wipe away my eyes
|
| My eyes, eyes, eyes |