| In this country at any given time
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| There are two million empty houses
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| And one of them once was mine
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| There were twelve million spirits drifting
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| In twelve million empty rooms
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| Waving their ghostly arms at the stars
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| And howling sad songs by the light of a crescent moon
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| Yeah they claw at the air and they scream
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| But they don’t make a sound
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| Should’ve exercised the demons and their secrets
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| While they were 'round
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| Don’t you think it’s funny how quickly things can turn around
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| All our lives are drifting like ghosts inside and empty house
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| Everything is falling to pieces and its just as well
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| Because every little piece of heaven brings a little piece of hell
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| In my darkest hour when death is knocking at my door
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| I can feel the tug of a thousand fingers
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| But what are the ghosts here for
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| They say:
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| Beware, be wary
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| Of secrets that you may keep
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| Cause if they’re any indication of what sorrow brings you
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| Then don’t take your demons to sleep
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| And if you take a little time
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| To think about yourself
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| You just might find that the
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| Direction that you’re headed is closer to hell
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| Don’t you think it’s funny how quickly things can turn around
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| All our lives are drifting like ghosts inside and empty house
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| Everything is falling to pieces and its just as well
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| Cause every little piece of heaven brings a little piece of hell
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| So you might find yourself drifting
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| Like a ghosts inside empty house after empty house
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| Looking for someone but lately finding not a soul to tell |