| Holy dogs in the temple of broken glass
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| Mississippi death threat, mississippi dead flesh
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| Dressed out like a deer in a wedding dress
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| On my house, wrecking line
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| I love it when you beg
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| Enslavement brings a headache of majority
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| And headaches of minority
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| Walking and working, pushing long
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| Using a manual can opener
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| The whole of nothing, a whole for something, a complete
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| Nothing it looks like I want to quit
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| I’m going back to that room, give me a call sometime
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| Wet sister, it’s drug lord, slum lord, and strung out and
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| Dug up, turn on, tuned out and burn out and break out
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| The throat god of no more alcohol to vomit
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| I lose myself on Sundays, Vietnam, and Kansas
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| Trench war, silent preminitions
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| Preaching to the end of time
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| The north position, idealogy
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| Written in chalk, out loud on the
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| Back of a stop sign
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| And Texas bus station, torn between suicide and breakfast
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| And Texas bus station, torn between suicide and breakfast
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| Beneath the driving to us, solitude and poverty
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| Never never and never never |