| The fragile keep secrets
|
| Gathered in pockets
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| And they will sell them for nothing
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| A cheap watch or locket
|
| That kind of gold washes off
|
| And the sad act like lepers
|
| They stick to the shadows
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| They long to ring bells of warning
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| To tell of their coming
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| So that the pure can shut their doors
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| The angry are animals Senseless and savage
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| They act without order
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| In logical lapses
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| They stain their mouths with blood
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| So take my hand
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| This barren land is alive tonight
|
| Oh, the corn has grown stalks
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| That form a wall to hide
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| But the wind carries sounds
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| That I can’t see from beyond that line
|
| Then the stalks begin to sway
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| Oh, stay with me, Arienette
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| Until the wolves are away
|
| The wicked are vultures
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| And they bake in the canyons
|
| They circle in sunlight
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| And wait for their victims
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| To collapse and call to them
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| The desperate are water
|
| They’ll run down forever
|
| And soak into silence
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| And end up together
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| In a dark and distant, dark and distant place
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| So don’t leave me here with only mirrors watching me This house, it holds nothing but the memories
|
| And the moon, it leaves silver but never sleep
|
| And then the silver turns to gray
|
| Oh stay with me, Arienette
|
| Until the wolves are away |