| He was the kind of man who never knew his place
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| Was broken long before he ever knew his name
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| He was the kind of man that always took the blame
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| The things he’d done when others pulled the strings
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| He was the kind of man who’d never turn away
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| And he was caught inside the moths eternal flame
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| Oh little birds I really want to hear you sing
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| It’s been so long and I can’t stand your silent beaks
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| We know the words, you know, we just don’t want to sing
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| The things you’ve done will never warrant melody
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| He was the kind of man who always seemed so strong
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| And every life he made would sap his youth and love
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| And he was the kind of man who was terrified to die
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| Yet every night he did when he turned out the light
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| He was the kind of man who lived so selfishly
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| All alone, the stones, the gun, the dark, the sea
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| And he was the kind of man who never fed the birds
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| And now they watch him end and hear his final words
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| Oh little birds I really need to hear you sing
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| It’s been so long the dark devoured Everything
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| We know the words, you know, we just don’t want to sing
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| The mark you left could never warrant anything
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| And he was the kind of man who lived inside his head
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| A world so deep that light could not survive down there
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| And he was the kind of man who killed the ones he’d touch
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| And now he’s gone the world can wash away the dust |