| The People’s Key ringing through arena seats
|
| The black machine played it all from memory
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| A fever dream, well, I’ll come back eventually
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| To wade into the water, another and another we go Form some kind of code
|
| The bodies float
|
| And form some kind of code
|
| The bodies float
|
| Someone is out to know
|
| Papa Hobo don’t hide your eyes
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| Mother Mountain don’t kill your unborn child
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| His day is coming
|
| His day is coming
|
| A question burns beneath the centuries of dirt
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| That voice you’ve heard, well, every head is a different world
|
| Where mine is concerned, I boarded up the windows
|
| A catatonic plateau, a backwards, black-faced minstrel show
|
| So just let me go The prisoner moans
|
| The prisoner moans
|
| No one has to know
|
| Eva Braun went to dye her hair
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| Little Hitler sat in his giant’s chair
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| And dreamed of nowhere
|
| And dreamed and dreamed and dreamed
|
| The People’s Key ringing filling everything
|
| The theme repeats, thinner than the galaxy
|
| Impart to me your wisdom and eventually
|
| I’ll float into the ether, another from another we grow
|
| Form some kind of code
|
| Of flesh and bone
|
| We form some kind of code
|
| Of flesh and bone
|
| No, you are not alone
|
| History bows and it steps aside
|
| In the jungle there are columns of purple light
|
| We are starting over
|
| We are starting
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| We are starting |