| Beggars, thieves and lifes downtrodden
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| Come to me as the king of the damned
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| They hang their actions on my blackened outlook
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| They take their lives by the slight of my hand
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| They bought a ticket to the gates of heaven
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| But all the saints see them coming and they run
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| No chance for reason
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| No hope at all,
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| No slight return to grace, but a long, long way to fall
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| As sorry sign of weakness
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| A silly game to play
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| A sad songs of what becomes of the souls on judgement day
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| Dead eyes to find you
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| No tales to tell
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| Been lost so long I learn to hunt by sense of smell
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| Old hands are broken
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| Old veins are torn
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| Cos' we’re all dying from the day that we are born
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| We’re trying, we’re torn
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| We’re all dying from the day that we are born
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| We’re trying, we’re torn
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| We’re all dying from the day that we are born |