| Even in the holidays I can feel your burning hell
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| Etching up rusty maps that take you to nowhere
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| It hits you sideways but you feel it in the back
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| Hidden in the coattails of a long remembered trial
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| Oh I hear the devils being called
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| And you, you are inspired by it all
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| Finding a response is like purchasing a prayer
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| Stumbling around somewhere looking for a place to sit
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| Where are you looking to when the temperature is rising?
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| And who are you looking to in the darkness of your age?
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| Oh I hear the devils being called
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| And you, you are inspired by it all
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| You know that that things we say
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| Cut through the air like a cold wind calling
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| I know that the highway steam
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| Runs through our veins at the break of reason |