| I haunted a basketmaker’s shop
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| Spending days ripping pictures from magazines
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| Taping them to the walls of my prison
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| I remember walking by the sand
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| Each knob represented a different frequency range
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| And I remember holding the hand of the skeleton prince
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| And he swept me into his arms
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| And he, he had tremolo deep
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| In the back of his black eye sockets
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| And he said, «Do you want to come away with me
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| Into the pitch black pool?»
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| And I said, «I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know»
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| Photocopied, the wind ripped through the trees
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| And all the stained-glass windows rattled
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| I haunted a basketmaker’s shop in 1927
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| And on the beach in the summer there were thunderstorms constantly
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| And they were unpredictable
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| Nobody knew when they would come and nobody knew how long they’d last
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| Sometimes they’d only last five minutes and sometimes weeks
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| I haunted a basketmaker’s shop
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| Because I had nowhere to go one long weekend
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| Stained-glass windows turning off and on
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| And the tremolo in the back dark corners
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| Cobwebs stripped, mildewed
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| I remember acoustic guitars and bells
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| I remember the cathedral
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| I remember cassettes, cathedral
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| I remember cassette, cathedral
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| I remember cassette, cathedral |