| I took a walk down terminal street last night
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| To see the ancient faces living there
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| I saw the sunken eyes of agony
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| And saw the desperate stations of despair
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| The madman waiting for the spirit girls to come
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| In a song well written but unsung
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| I saw the smiling wardens cracking down the noose
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| In which my drowning head was hung
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| Oh, down on terminal street
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| Oh, down on terminal street
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| The street cafe was closed to all but ghosts
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| Who glide the alleys searching for their lair
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| I heard a voice like winter call my name
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| Said very soon that I would join them there
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| And all the creatures born of ink and rage and lies
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| Crawled off my pan and ran across the page to die
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| Fascination was the germ of their disease
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| Degradation is the term of their release
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| Oh, down on terminal street
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| Oh, down on terminal street
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| Oh yes, I’m down on terminal street tonight
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| Oh no, not down on terminal street tonight
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| Oh yes, down on terminal street tonight
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| Oh no, down on terminal street tonight
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| Oh yes, I’m down on terminal street tonight
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| Terminal street! |