| Above these fallow plains of salt and wires
|
| Form the droplets that would land and dehydrate the soil
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| And so sounds the song, with howls and shrieking;
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| A gift from this earth’s keeper, uncontrollably weeping
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| And I’m thinking that she must’ve forgotten where she left me last
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| And it’s starting to become a real problem, when I’m living in the
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| Dead Plains. |
| It’s a paradox
|
| Dead Plains. |
| Her tears turn to salt
|
| Dead Plains. |
| Now she cries for her friend, but it’s the sadness in her heart in
|
| which she’s grown to depend
|
| Life is slipping, and it’s starting to feel as if oxygen is thinning
|
| There goes the sound from where the clouds are
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| So block your ears because her song is getting louder
|
| I guess she’s getting closer, maybe she wanted some closure
|
| But she’s left me in the
|
| Dead Plains. |
| It’s a paradox
|
| Dead Plains. |
| Now her tears turn to salt
|
| Dead Plains. |
| Now she cries for her friend, but it’s the sadness in her heart in
|
| which she’s grown to depend
|
| And I’m thinking that she must’ve forgotten where she left me last
|
| I guess she’s getting closer, maybe she wanted some closure
|
| Maybe she wanted some
|
| But she’ll never let me out
|
| No, she’ll never let me out
|
| Help somebody, anybody? |
| Anybody?
|
| No, she’ll never let me out
|
| Guess I’m stuck living in the Dead Plains |