| Look for me every night, if you half close your eyes
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| You can make out mine in the ghostly light
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| And you’ll hear me cry, «It's not me
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| Though you shrink in fear, I am nowhere near
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| I’m apparently not fit to rest here
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| Were my grave and wake for my mother’s sake
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| For if you care to exhume you’ll see it’s not my tomb
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| You’ll find no bones, no sticks, only stones
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| Cause whatever I did, I must’ve paid high
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| Cause there’s nothing left to remember me by
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| And the people I see at night say it serves me right
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| If I knew my crime would I suffer more?
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| If I wasn’t blind to those days before
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| I know that all these stones that serve to replace my bones
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| Were laid to hide whatever revenge was played that night
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| But the sound of the dark, I’ve heard it before
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| And the people I see in my sleep said they’d seen me run from the law
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| Well, is there anything that they don’t know?
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| I know that where I lie, I can’t see hill or sky
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| I’m somewhere below paying for what I don’t know
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| Cause whatever hearts broke, what houses were burned
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| Whomever was slain and what friendships were spurned
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| They made sure I learned that there’s nothing worse than to not know
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| There’s nothing worse than to not know |