| Reverend Revivalist pulls ‘em out they mishaps
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| As long as the bridle fits you’re sure to hear the whip crack
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| Thank the lepers with colonial feathers
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| Tell Sharp Knife Jackson the winter got weathered
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| Never walk with the lost folks that talk to the air
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| With machines to their ears; |
| but really, nobody’s there
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| Keep your John Hancock off faulty peace treaties
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| Many Colonel Chivington’s who like to Harry Houdini
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| Off the record, your old man’s running on static
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| Sometimes my flesh just lets the chemicals have at it
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| You wouldn’t believe waters that your people have walked
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| Some sank, some drank the dark oceans they crossed
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| It is not our nature to nurture the vapors
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| Of a savior who promises land for our labor
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| Put your best foot forward when you walk across the border
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| Either came 'cause voices told you to or 'cause you flipped a quarter
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| Landed heads-up/ hit the highway, the holy ribbon
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| Only given is the dead trucks littered with lonely women
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| Smokey vision blurs-tears come/ shaking me something fearsome
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| Reminds me of another life when I was twenty years young
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| Peering out Venetian blinds/ don’t let me be the crime
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| If I don’t see it, fine/ I’ll lean behind a drug store peace of mind
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| Man, they don’t know you from a South Dakota landscape
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| Bulletproof glass and intercoms separate that handshake
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| Can’t escape a drifter’s dust is his to carry
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| 'bituary columns nothing but a rustic vision buried
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| Military tags in medicine bags hold the offering
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| The doctor brings amphetamine drags to slow you properly
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| I’ll tell my children they can walk on water
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| Our folks are all walking on fire for fire water
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| I’ll tell my children they can walk on water
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| Smooth-talkers always tend to lead the lamb to the slaughter
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| I’ll tell my children they can walk on water
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| Our folks are all walking on fire for fire water
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| I’ll tell my children they can walk on water
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| Watch the hand they keep hidden when they’re making an offer
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| Now the triggermen tally roman numeral marks
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| While the bagpipes blow, police funerals march
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| But its just another story from the cold observatory
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| Heard the prisoner bangin' rocks produced a beautiful spark |