| In Carrollton, when the sun goes down
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| The lights turn on inside and the secrets seem to come to life and flicker
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| In the eyes of those who hold them close, who’ll never let them go
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| Those who pray that they will somehow be forgiven
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| And they sing, «Angels, forgive us please, we’ve turned our backs on family
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| and it ain’t like it’s supposed to be.
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| So hear our prayers and put our souls at ease»
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| Behind the smiles and bloodshot eyes is something dark and cold like ice
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| That never warms, even in July it’s winter
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| The past is dressed in Sunday clothes, in pictures frames in dusty rows
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| and put in rooms where no one goes to see them
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| And they sing, «Angels, forgive us please,
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| we ain’t got much as you can see.
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| But, we’ve turned our backs on family.
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| So hear our prayers and put our souls at ease»
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| Oh please
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| We’ve tried so hard to live good lives,
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| to tell the truth, to love our wives
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| But the darkness holds those ancient lies and a wicked
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| pain that never ever dies
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| In Carrollton, when the sun goes down
|
| The lights turn on inside and the secrets seem to come to life and flicker
|
| In Carrollton, when the sun goes down
|
| In Carrollton, when the sun goes down, down |