| Power station by the river
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| Grinding slowly to a stop
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| Clock still ticking on the mantle
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| Flames still flicker on the log
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| Coffee brewing in the kitchen
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| Where the door is open wide
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| Glass upon a hoovered carpet
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| Eyes are glowing in the night
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| It’s the silence you can see
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| Hearing shadows behind me
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| All the buildings standing empty
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| All the trains are standing still
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| Cars are scattered by the roadside
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| There’s no top upon the hill
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| Nails have scratched upon the outside
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| Of the empty chapel door
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| But I don’t think that the father
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| Wants to live there anymore
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| There’s no bone for you to pick
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| No more wax around the wick
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| Shot the arrow from the circle
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| At the apple on the tree
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| From a garden that was Eden
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| Strange the fruit it bears for me
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| And the wind will spread the fire
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| And the rain will ever fall
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| If no one reads the writing
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| That’s been written on the wall
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| Underneath the apple tree
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| There’s a ghost who waits for me
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| The apple tree shakes its arms
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| Its fruit falls
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| Its fruits are tasting strange
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| The apple tree is shaking |