| Walk around the room with a glaze in your stare.
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| In your tuxedo suit.
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| I will give it a name.
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| Lower your defenses.
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| Lower your casket.
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| Open the door and open your grave.
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| Murder.
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| Now you’re doing the waltz with your murderer.
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| Mediocrity is the killer.
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| You find yourself helpless.
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| Christ is not a fashoin, fleeting away.
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| He laid emeralds in her eyes,
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| But I’d already tried a bracelt made of gold
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| And a scarlet thread around her wrist.
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| Everything was wrong so we sang sentimental songs.
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| «Oh how seldom we belong but how elegant our kiss.»
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| We painted crooked lines
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| But danced in perfect time to a love so much refined,
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| We know not what it is until like a dullen wine we pour into a grief know before
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| But never quite like this.
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| All i know now is regret,
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| It follows like a silhouette along the cobbelstone behind us,
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| But has nothing to say except to innocently ask,
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| Its voice delicate as glass,
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| «Do you see me when we pass?»
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| But i continue on my way. |