| There’s a full moon over this ancient town
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| A clock faced the color of the sky
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| And every street that we walk down
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| Belongs to the house where my father died
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| Where prisoners march in luck step with each other
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| Reavers test the limit of their reign
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| Dragging their dead weight from the other
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| While I claim my place, center stage
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| I’ve been thrown by the thrashing of his going
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| Chained to his unseen stride
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| I’ve walked in luck step without knowing
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| My indifference, my only disguise
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| Now it comes through me like an injection
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| Anonymous pain throbbing real inside
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| And every pulse in my body
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| Belongs to the house where my father died
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| Won’t catch his spirit in a candle
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| On or alive in it’s guttering glow
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| And death comes through these streets like a scandal
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| Bent up and beaten, oh, a bitter body blow
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| And in bars and shaded back rooms
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| Those who can’t cope just get high
|
| But every place this drink takes me to
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| Belongs to the house, where my father died
|
| And there’s a full moon over this ancient town
|
| Head lights numb the banner of the sky
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| Rain rages the steadings and the open ground
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| And I’m a child fighting shadows with tears in my eyes
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| And the valley cannons and thunder
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| Trees blow beneath the bruising of the sky
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| Like centuries shield the lake from my wonder
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| And I’m as helpless as a child hiding from life
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| And the face from my mind is fading
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| I count the wounds for the very first time
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| Tonight there’s gonna be a reckoning
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| I’m entering the house where my father died |