| Paint the streets in white
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| Death is the standard breach for a complex prize
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| I think it’s sweet of you and your parents are proud
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| But I would expect it from anyone now to protect life’s indigenous sound
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| Worship, play, play
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| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play
|
| Worship, play
|
| Worship, worship, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play
|
| Worship, worship
|
| How the streets they swell
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| While the animals make their way through the crowds
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| If you keep listening you can hear it for miles
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| God I trust everyone quicker with every faint smile
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| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, worship, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, worship, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play, play
|
| Worship, play
|
| Worship, worship
|
| And the crowd goes wild
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| And the camera makes you seasick
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| God, it’s so sweet of you and I know you’re proud
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| And the car bomb hits quick, click, click, click, faint smile
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| It’s the same sound
|
| It’s the same, same sound
|
| And the crowd goes wild
|
| And the camera makes you seasick
|
| God, it’s so sweet of you and you know I’m proud
|
| And the car bomb tick ticks with the same sound
|
| It’s the same sound
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| With the same sound |