| Rain falls on the paramedics but they do not go inside
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| The street is where it all went down, the street is where he lies
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| The mother in her universe feels nothing but the pain
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| The son who was a baby but who will never be a man
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| So we pray to the God of Broken Class
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| We pray to the God of Gunfire and Regret
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| We pray to the God of Collateral Children
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| We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem
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| Son was on his best behavior, shit was on his shoes
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| Blood was on the handlebars, nothing on the news
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| No one saw it coming, no one was to blame
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| Daddy’s got a broken heart, he’ll never be the same
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| So we pray to the God of Old Illusions
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| We pray to the God of Wasted Chances
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| We pray to the God of Dreams and Roses
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| We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem
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| A girl falls down in hysterics
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| Is she laughing? |
| Is she crying? |
| Is she living? |
| Is he dying?
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| Undone
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| Who raise the glasses higher
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| Sulfur from the underground
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| Erosion, scalding steam
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| Her brother in a picture frame
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| And someone starts to scream
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| So we pray to the God of Washed Out Paper Broken Hearts
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| We pray to the God, the last chance is for rage and vengeance
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| We pray to the God, beat the drum slowly, neatly folded up and hidden Old Glory
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| We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem |