| We drew a crowd.
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| The crowd drew blood.
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| Fawning swindlers.
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| There’s a shark in the stream where the newborns are baptized.
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| Who let the flatterer, into the gallery, on our sweet sixteen.
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| Take him against the wall for the witness.
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| This is doom in a borrowed suit.
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| It’s a pick up line at a funeral.
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| Cannibals along side the catwalk.
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| But its ok we’ve got old blood and our veins are rooted to the hornets nest
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| again.
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| New love is tasteless.
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| We’re wearing down.
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| This is the year of the party crasher.
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| What is charm.
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| Where are the heroics.
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| What is harm to the perfumed wrists of the stoics.
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| Designer Imposters find us twitching in the claws of the snake.
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| A fin is circling around in the floor.
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| It appears we’ve lost our way.
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| The tide is swelling and we’ve fallen asleep on the shore.
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| Get inside.
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| Someone’s yelling fire in the theater.
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| Oh dear God.
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| Everybody stay calm.
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| Tell your husband that his screaming just invited it in.
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| The horsemen are crashing through the gates.
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| Crashing through the gates.
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| We had better learn to play dead.
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| Our hands are reeking of rapture.
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| It’s dripping from our chin.
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| The tragedy of infant hearts.
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| But it’s ok
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| We’ve got old blood and our hair is woven to the same hotel again.
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| We’re wearing down.
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| This is the year of the party crasher.
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| It’s you and me for the first time, in history.
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| We’re history. |