| Three A.M.'s back again and the girls are fast asleep, tucked into their beds
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| up above
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| Down below, I have nowhere else left to go
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| Six grey hairs and the fangs of another night playing uncle in this home
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| What I fear—what I know—is that these girls will never know
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| All their prayers on their knees won’t stop men just like me from preying,
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| male gazing, drink-lacing—from turning coddled lives to living hell
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| Oh, young American girls in young American rooms with young American dreams in
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| young American wombs
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| No matter how much you pray, no matter how much you hide, there’s a dorm,
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| there’s a church full of American boys drunk on American thighs singing:
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| If it’s the devil that’s in me, then it’s the devil I love
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| Cross my heart and hope to die
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| If it’s the devil in me, then it’s the devil I love
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| One below, and nothing up above
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| Three A.M.'s back again
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| I’m dialing digits on my phone
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| 'Cause it’s true: even men just like me, raised properly, respectfully,
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| have something hiding, something fighting to drag us all below
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| It’s the devil I love
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| Devil that I love |