| Rising ash, falling snow, she used to lie and adore ye
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| Winding long tails of woe, she used to lie and adore ye
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| Nightingale, ashen-pale, whistling tunes, yeah, the moon still adores ye
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| Now, now, you’re so young and proud but another name for that will be 'lonely'
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| Pick the lock, sweep the floor, leave without a sound
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| Just allow the empty space to heal
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| Oi!
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| Bound in chains with a thousand rains, no wonder the storm still adores ye
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| Hold me down or hold me now, screaming: 'I still love and adore ye'
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| Past the door, winter storms through the streets of your unending longings
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| Flow down now to frost the ground like cool Hallelujahs
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| On the bridge that connects us high, high above all this torrent
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| Should you fall down that wall of sound’s howling: 'I still love and adore ye'
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| Pick the lock, sweep the floor, leave without a sound
|
| Just allow the empty space to heal
|
| Pick the lock, sweep the floor, leave without a sound
|
| Just allow the empty space to heal
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| Oi! |