| There you are hogging the front page,
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| Drawing blanks when thinking of sin’s wage,
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| If everyone has fallen short, some humbleness is overdue,
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| If I wish your face got stabbed, will I be just as bent as you?
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| There’s a chip that’s on my shoulder sucking us into quicksand,
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| The temperature is getting colder, a backwards ticking second hand
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| There you go bullying again,
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| Stealing the spotlight from better men,
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| If God is love you got it wrong waving all your placards and flags,
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| The very fact that you’re alive says God must also love douchebags
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| There’s a chip that’s on my shoulder sucking us into quicksand,
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| The temperature is getting colder, a backwards ticking second hand,
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| There’s a chip that’s on my shoulder sucking us into quicksand,
|
| The temperature is getting colder, a backwards ticking second hand
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| And the only saving grace we only ever need speak of,
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| If ever there’s a question the answer is to love, the answer is to love
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| There’s a chip that’s on my shoulder sucking us into quicksand,
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| The temperature is getting colder, a backwards ticking second hand,
|
| There’s a chip that’s on my shoulder sucking us into quicksand,
|
| The temperature is getting colder, a backwards ticking second hand |