| Behind this glass case
|
| A moulding of a heart
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| It was mine, I left it there
|
| For I’d sold the things I could bear
|
| Tell your soldier fair and the wind that I do not care
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| Hanging bloody from the gallows up there
|
| And walk into the sea
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| I wanted your knives in me
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| So I took it back
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| The moulding of my heart
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| It was mine, I left it there
|
| For I’d sold the things I could not wear
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| Tell the priests up there and the hymns singing I do still care
|
| Hanging bloody from the gallows up there
|
| And walk into the sea
|
| I took your knives out of me
|
| And these wounds will never bleed again
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| For a scar, it never bleeds again
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| These wounds will never bleed again
|
| For a scar, it never bleeds again
|
| And these wounds will never be again |