| Somberly, somberly linger lie long early
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| Grateful our cold memories bide
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| For the plentiful times that,
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| That her eagerly death had had
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| Counter intuitive thunder ride
|
| Clean my sparkling teeth
|
| Brush down my sparkling sides
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| Thy nervous blood will become undone
|
| From impiety as pounding ideas
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| Some shattering find for this candor to die
|
| Plug up your wormholes and give them, to feeders and spirits be freer
|
| Some shattering find for this candor to die
|
| Plug up your wormholes and give them, to feeders and spirits be freer
|
| And freer and broil and toil and foil die
|
| Scallop the breastbone, roll in toll and fold the long winter in it Think not what the season will become
|
| Breathe truthfully at the garden glen, that grew masterfully over your
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| Withering son
|
| Beat out the bed bugs,
|
| Stand when you do it Beat out the bed bugs,
|
| Stand when you do it Some shattering find for this candor to die
|
| Plug up your wormholes and give them, to feeders and spirits be freer
|
| Some shattering find for this candor to die
|
| Plug up your wormholes and give them, to feeders and spirits be freer
|
| And freer and freer and |