| I went to a wedding, I brought a song
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| I folded it up like a list of thanks at a Praisathon
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| The bride was Snow White, the groom was strong
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| Trailers as endless as the day is long
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| Some days are fairy tales, some days belie
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| The four and twenty black birds baked in a pie
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| Could open up their sweet throats to serenade a king
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| That’s a lot of heat to take and still be able to sing, sing, sing
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| It’s not been proven hard to bring unending start
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| And even easier to die from a broken heart
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| Oh, was a blind force trauma from the fireworks
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| That someone is celebrating while another gets hurt
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| Some days are fairy tales, some days belie
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| The four and twenty black birds baked in a pie
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| Could open up their sweet throats to serenade a king
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| That’s a lot of heat to take and still be able to sing
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| Still I see them in the night
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| With their blood red wings alike
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| While the rocket’s red glare
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| Gives proof through the night
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| If some things not right
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| Some things not right
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| In the book of Steven there is no prophecy
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| 'Cause there was no need for God in the way things came to be
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| Some live by faith, some live by proof
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| They don’t meet up on a friendly road or live under the same roof
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| Some days are fairy tales, some days belie
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| Four and twenty black birds baked in a pie
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| Could open up their sweet throats to serenade a king
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| That’s a lot of heat to take and still be able to sing, sing, sing
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| Sing, sing, sing
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| And the birds fall hard like black rain
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| Jerking the earth with a portent stain
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| Beat like drums, they beat like a wings
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| Are we looking? |
| Are we listening?
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| Sing, sing, sing, sing
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| Sing, sing, sing |