| Late, late at night
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| 24-hour store
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| Ghosts fly up the aisles, across the shining floor
|
| Opening and closing automatic doors
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| Hands waving mirrors
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| Angels fly through lights
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| But the sleepless and lost push their squeaking carts
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| Down the rows of clothes and see nothing at all
|
| No, no one hears the singing bones
|
| And no one sees the crying ghosts
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| And everyone thinks I’m alone
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| All alone
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| But under concrete
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| And steel linoleum floors
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| There is a fire that will never die
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| A golden wheel inside the world
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| A golden wheel in plastic and bows
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| In particles of light that fall from the sun
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| A river of candles
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| Tumbling in the dark
|
| No, no one hears the singing bones
|
| And no one sees the crying ghosts
|
| And everyone thinks I’m alone
|
| All alone
|
| No, no one hears the singing bones
|
| And no one sees the crying ghosts
|
| And everyone thinks I’m alone
|
| All alone |