| A butchers grin from ear to ear, no one outside who can hear
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| Don’t you think your time has come, I hear
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| Powders melt inside the cup, don’t you think she’s drunk too much
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| Touch the lips that blueish cold, she’s not too old
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| Turn the gas on high speed, shut the windows tightly
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| Wrap the babies safe and warm, I hear
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| Pull the wings off lightly, break the bones politely
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| Don’t you think the time has come to raise the line
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| A sweethearts sharpened kiss, twenty-four marks on her breast
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| A lover gasp rings through the might, I hear
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| Pull the wings off lightly, break the bones politely
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| Don’t you think the time has come, I hear
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| Powders melt inside the cups, don’t you think she’s drunk too much
|
| Touch the lips that blueish cold, she’s not too old
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| Blueish eyes through the earth stare, frozen face without a care
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| Another chance to raise the line, I hear |