| Aha
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| Uhm
|
| Round here they sing broken hymns
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| Their prayers flow better when they’re soaked in gin
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| The amp’s dusty and sits in the corner
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| By a bartender that’ll pickpocket your heart
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| And a jukebox that’ll steal your quarter
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| Bartender, please give me a confession
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| Exchange fear for courage in the form of a well drink
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| There’s a heavy current, got a long way to swim
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| Closed the Bible a while ago, I need some shots for this sin
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| Hail Mary, come with me, feel like Pac when it hits
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| Got some fire in my belly and a riot in the gut
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| Bushmills for a band-aid, the sweet taste of blood
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| Then I might actually feel something if I don’t cover it up
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| Rusted faces, familiar places
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| Even if they haven’t left the vinyl booth that they stayed in
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| The motel next door, a sign that reads vacant
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| And a truth that’s so strong I’d be a fool not to chase it
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| But yet, I’m a fool and I stay here
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| Hope these problems drown themselves, I die in wait here
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| One more, four more, fuck it a night cap
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| Service starts at 5 tomorrow and I’ll be right back
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| Underneath this fragile frame
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| Lives a battle between pride and shame
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| But I’ve misplaced that sense of fright
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| This crown of thorns is perched atop my spine
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| Listen closely as I testify
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| Dependency has been that thief at night
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| Thief at night, thief at night
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| I read the Bible, but I forgot the verses
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| The liquor store is open later than the church is
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| Pured by their imperfections, everything that’s burning
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| To Hell with the confessions, all the «Lord Have Mercy’s»
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| Blessed in holy water, the sin, Oh Holy Father
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| Have you ever smelled flesh that sweats out Monarch vodka?
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| 11 AM in the morning and you can’t get it off ya
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| Callin' to the preacher but it’s like the pastor isn’t talking
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| Until the store opens I can re-up on that doctrine
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| The people close to me say that I’m in need of a doctor
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| Think that I got a problem but these are not apostles
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| This is the drink of the Lord, that’s according to my gospel
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| Open to interpretation, if you’re judgin' I don’t want it
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| I got sins that scold like my throat when I hit the bottle
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| And I’m sinking and that’s why I keep on drinking
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| I need a refill, far more than once every weekend
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| Sweet Jesus, I’m getting amnesia
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| Shaking 'til I get a taste, my faith is having seizures
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| Every time I walk away and try to leave it
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| Every time I walk away and try to leave it
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| Wouldn’t miss it for the world
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| Baptized in my vices and the bar is my church
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| Traded my artist and I pawned off the easel
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| Spend it all searching for God at the Neon Cathedral
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| Wouldn’t miss it for the world
|
| Baptized my vices and the bar is my church
|
| Traded my artist and I pawned off the easel
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| Spend it all searching for God, Neon Cathedral
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| Neon Cathedral
|
| Underneath this fragile frame
|
| Lives a battle between pride and shame
|
| But I’ve misplaced that sense of fright
|
| This crown of thorns is perched atop my spine
|
| Listen closely as I testify
|
| Dependency has been that thief at night
|
| Thief at night, thief at night
|
| Dependency has been that thief at night
|
| Thief at night, thief at night
|
| Dependency has been that thief at night
|
| Thief at night, thief at night |