| Lead me through these cities of imaginary trends
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| something’s gonna be changing come the morning time my friend
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| as fickle as these streets are they might not even wait around till then I’ve
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| got a lot to loose so come and take it from me quick everything you loose if it
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| makes you stronger it makes you sick take these cities from me I’ll build
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| buildings up with my own bare hands
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| the uppers aren’t necessary the guilt is the coal that keeps the fire burning
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| to drive out the cold
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| that creeps in every corner crack and never leaves you alone
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| till the lonely messengers come calling you back home
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| the trees are stacked in rows on the side of the road
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| stripped of any dignity a birthing may have had
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| 100 thousand crucified on the Mojave I-5 line singers shepherds and salesmen
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| all longing for someone to kill the joy of wondering and end all their desire
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| to help them to remember that the road is nothing but a liar the uppers aren’t
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| necessary the guilt is the coal
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| that keeps the fire burning to drive out the cold
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| that creeps in every corner crack and never leaves you alone
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| till the lonely messengers come calling you back
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| to the red door, cracked and crooked walk way
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| the fence impaling the stars
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| ghostly keepers lead the way through railroads of abandoned cars the tracks and
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| city streets cut through like scars |