| Thursday, shuffling feet on your cemetery lawn
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| Weeping about your skin, in your sleep you just slid it off
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| Just so you could get dressed up in this
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| Your nightgown of oak, your ribbons of roots
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| Is there nothing you want from me now, no help I could give but to lower you
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| down?
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| Oh all your friends are standing by waving greedy goodbyes
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| I’ve got nothing now that I want to say
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| You wouldn’t talk back anyway
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| And you know we won’t do what you wanted us to
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| There ain’t nothing here to celebrate
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| We’re all worse off without you
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| At that feast in some two star hotel
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| I’m circling the room and mingling half stunned
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| Nauseous with the truth of it all
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| Knowing here the whole time this won’t really fade
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| Now it just stays in out spines
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| Oh but we’re all shaking hands offering condolences
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| Stories of some envied youth, less life threatening more moot
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| And our eyes they all drown, our tongues get wrung out
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| There ain’t nothing here for us to taste that ain’t bitter already
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| They warn us our reservation is up, it just seems so cruel
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| Like the parasites that eat your thoughts your plot gets covered up
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| By someone who never even knew you
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| Oh then the curtain comes down, the crowd it thins out
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| There’s no reason now for us to stay
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| And we all hurry home because it won’t be long till we’re in your place |