| Snow falls on the tip of my tongue
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| Tasting blood of the violence to come
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| Branches hang low to drag and reach
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| Crows begging a hawk for it’s meat
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| Prism dug from the bottle waves
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| This the skin and hair you came
|
| Cuts were made for the nerves to die
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| Some so bold they speak in light
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| Legs running in the tall tear blades
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| Imagine wanting life and the want remains
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| Watching rot in every passing eye
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| Bones bend to eat the shit from the flies
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| Driving, driving, driving, driving
|
| She how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| Bent my knees down as low as they go
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| Swallow ashes then vomit gold
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| Crone wade on a sinking ship
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| Carries shadows deep into my crypt
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| Never listened to the words out of mouth
|
| Only heard the thoughts and
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| The thoughts were proud
|
| Driving, driving, driving, driving
|
| Driving, driving, driving, driving
|
| She how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leading
|
| See how she’s leaving |