| SIT DOWN!
|
| Return to sender, I’ve fallen off the hint of suggestion
|
| Unlearning the strange devices of the world
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| It’s the end of the earth or something like it, like it
|
| The great universal coma has arrived
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| We are holding our hands towards the sun
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| Sit down, come on sit down. |
| Let’s break out the shotguns, we’re
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| Going to town
|
| Return to sender, carried straight from the womb to the grave
|
| Your eyes have been paled to emptiness
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| All things have been carved out by the unceasing haunts
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| Of this, the Great Manipulator!
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| The holding of our hands upwards and around the eclipsing sun
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| Has become empty and automatic
|
| Sit down, sit down, come on sit down
|
| Let’s break out the shotguns, we’re going to town
|
| Let’s break out the shotguns, we’re going to town!
|
| You’ve given us user friendly grenades! |
| Just what are you trying to say?
|
| Just what are you trying to say? |
| Just what are you trying to say?
|
| Just what are you trying to say? |
| Just what are you trying to say?
|
| Just what are you trying to say? |
| Just what are you trying to say?
|
| Just what are you trying to say? |
| Just what are you trying to say?
|
| The holding of our hands upwards and around the eclipsing sun
|
| Has become empty and automatic
|
| Sit down, sit down, come on sit down
|
| The holding of our hands upwards and around the eclipsing sun
|
| Has become empty and automatic
|
| Sit down, sit down, come on sit down
|
| Let’s break out the shotguns, we’re going to town! |