| If dust could only talk
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| What would we hear it say?
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| Before it’s brushed aside
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| Just as it’s swept away
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| It’s just the evidence
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| It’s of no consequence
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| It’s only flesh and bone
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| Why don’t you leave it alone?
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| If dust could only gather into lines of chalk
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| Around a silhouette detective fiction walks
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| For it’s the only witness that can testify
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| Can I spit out the truth
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| Or would you rather just swallow a lie?
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| Why did they dam the land?
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| How did they flood the plain?
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| Did they erase the name?
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| And wipe away the stain
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| You kept your mouth well shut
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| Appeared to turn your coat
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| Now there’s a name for you but it’s stuck in my throat
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| If dust could only mutter
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| Or in laughter trill
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| If it could warn and whisper from the windowsill
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| For it’s the only witness that can testify
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| Can I spit out the truth?
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| Or would you rather just swallow a lie?
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| Here comes the juggernaut
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| Here come The Poisoners
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| They choke the life and land
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| And rob the joy from us
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| Why do they taste of sugar
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| When they are made of money
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| Here come the Lamb of God
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| And the butcher’s boy, Sonny
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| If dust could only gather in a needle track
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| Then it would skip a beat and it would jump right back
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| If dust could only gather in a needle track
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| Then it would skip a beat
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| And all the sense I lack |