| Oh, yeah
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| («You will fall, the castles you keep»)
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| It’s time they come down—down
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| «—castle we will keep»
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| «Clean them, sell them»
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| «His castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep
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| We will sleep»
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| He said, «Fuck sobriety, death to the worker bees»
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| Thirteen circles I’ve stepped for eternity
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| Burning purple, stressed on a murder spree
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| It’s self-inflicted, don’t get it twisted
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| These knives in my back now, Elliott Smith (yeah)
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| Rides in the background, melodies fit (yeah)
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| Mixed with the misfits, fixes the hurt
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| When the lips that I kiss with press to the dirt
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| French-kiss vixens, distant and cursed
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| Burned bridges occurred from scriptin' my words
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| Word, so I’ll chisel a verse
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| On these lie-filled halls that I’ve lived in and searched
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| I’m still lost in a head of catacombs
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| Cause I build walls like I’m Edgar Allan Poe
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| I’ve killed off every damsel that I know
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| For castles that I keep, castles that I know
|
| «—castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep
|
| We will sleep»
|
| I’m having spirits in the dark, laying under moonlight
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| Laughing with a stranger, like I saved her from her doomed life
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| Pop a couple Percs, a perk of anonymity
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| Trapped within a curse that I created with my energy
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| A path that I rehearse, a cycle on repeat
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| Life is like a lion and I’m dying at its feet
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| I roll another sweet, check my muted Treo
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| I’ve seemed to miss the plot, too busy caught up in the B-roll
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| My eye up to the keyhole, scared to turn the knob
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| And go out on my own, instead I blend in with the mob, my
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| Memory bank’s the only thing I tend to rob
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| And every time I phone the lob, I’m out of dodge
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| It’s hard, on the boulevard, and other clichés
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| The type of bullshit that I’m feeding self these days
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| Corrosion on my relays, one thing my mirrors chose
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| An imp in new clothes, exposed
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| «—castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep
|
| We will sleep»
|
| I mow a dead lawn, aim for the alpha
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| Ten claws deck the halls of Valhalla
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| Not a man, a receptacle for crest-fallen matter
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| Never tempered or pressed into patterns
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| But just won’t die, instead a palpitation from the plasma
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| Pumping disenchanting anecdotes and antiquated data at 'em
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| I get these headaches that climb down into my stomach
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| Then off into my extremities and out into the public
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| In a flood of shadow puppetry, something in the air
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| Got a tiny pool of energy becoming self-aware
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| It’s recognizing family and alphanumeric characters
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| Scenery and deities with unassuming avatars
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| Close encounters exacerbate his condition
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| From classy to a bastion of classic misdirection
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| Tune into the Casio adventures
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| When the rest of me can barely form a god-damn sentence
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| «—castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep»
|
| «Clean them, sell them»
|
| «His castle we will keep
|
| We will sleep» |