| I think of tears, I think of rain on shingles
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| I think of rain, I think of roses blue
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| I think of Rose, my heart begins to tremble
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| To see the place she’s lately gotten to
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| Gotten to, gotten to
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| She’s gotten to mysterious devotions
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| She’s gotten to the zodiac and Zen
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| She’s gotten into tarot cards and potions
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| She’s laying her religion on her friends
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| On her friends, on her friends
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| Friends who come to ask her for their future
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| Friends who come to find they can’t be friends
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| Because of signs and seasons that don’t suit her
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| She’ll prophesy your death, she won’t say when
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| Won’t say when, won’t say when
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| When all the black cards come you cannot barter
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| No, when all your stars are stacked you cannot win
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| She’ll shake her head and treat you like a martyr
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| It is her blackest spell she puts you in
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| Puts you in, puts you in
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| In sorrow she can lure you where she wants you
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| Inside your own self-pity there you swim
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| In sinking down to drown her voice still haunts you
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| And only with your laughter can you win
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| Can you win, can you win
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| You win the lasting laurels with your laughter
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| It reaches like an arm before you sink
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| To win the solitary truth you’re after
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| You dare not ask the priestess how to think
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| How to think, how to think
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| I think of tears, I think of rain on shingles
|
| I think of rain, I think of roses blue
|
| I think of Rose, my heart begins to tremble
|
| To see the place she’s lately gotten to
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| Gotten to, gotten to |