| Just the power of indecision
|
| You’re riddled with shame
|
| If you leave your home number I will send you the blame
|
| The teeth in the cupboard ward away all bad luck
|
| Deep within Willamette Mountain
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| A sheepskin for winter
|
| And a tin can for rain
|
| I could cut you fresh ginger if you say that you’re staying
|
| I got a million more stories, and only half aren’t true
|
| Here inside Willamette Mountain
|
| Well, I am not real, for you I feel
|
| For you I feel when the morning comes
|
| I am not real, for you I feel
|
| For you I feel when the morning comes
|
| Please be cautious, my loved one
|
| The collar round your neck might not lead you to water
|
| But to prison instead
|
| You have four paths to choose from
|
| And only three will confuse
|
| The last leads to Willamette Mountain
|
| Well, I am not real, for you I feel
|
| For you I feel when the morning comes
|
| I am not real, for you I feel
|
| For you I feel when the morning comes
|
| Hurry and write down your feelings
|
| Hesitation means death
|
| Pickle all of your wrinklings
|
| Bottle every last breath for your mind will betray you
|
| And say your memory is false
|
| Underneath the sheets in Willamette Mountain
|
| Conjure all of your demons
|
| Try and make peace with the pain
|
| To ignore and neglect will make you bitter and stained
|
| You’re a creature of comfort
|
| Your body gives way
|
| To the spirits in Willamette Mountain
|
| Well, I am not real, for you I feel
|
| For you I feel when the morning comes
|
| I am not real, for you I feel
|
| For you I feel when the morning comes
|
| For you I feel when the morning comes |