| Nobody’s going to fix her now
|
| But it’s a world full of trouble
|
| An American massacre
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| In southern California
|
| But we’re reasoning with messengers
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| Who sit and talk about the weather
|
| When it’s just another nightmare
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| A slaughter of the children
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| With the wolves out there
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| And the bleeding hearts
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| And the long, blank stares
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| And the open mouths
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| She had her last shirt on
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| Now all stained with blood
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| With nowhere to run
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| And you sit and wonder whether anything could be done
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| And I could climb a mountain
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| But what am I going to find there?
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| When nothing comes from nothing
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| With every man an island
|
| And we’re reasoning with messengers
|
| Who try to pass for grown men
|
| And they’re coming up empty
|
| And they’re sending you their thoughts and prayers
|
| With the wolves out there
|
| And the bleeding hearts
|
| And the long, blank stares
|
| And the open mouths
|
| She had her last shirt on
|
| Now all stained with blood
|
| With nowhere to run
|
| And you sit and wonder whether anything could be done |