| Three chalk outlines sleep in the dirty street
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| And in our beds, under the sheets
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| They’re the halo of guilt hanging around your neck
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| Next to the rosary you count falling asleep, and we’re praying
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| These are the symptoms of letting go all our hope
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| Since we can’t compete with martyred saints
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| We’ll douse ourselves in gasoline
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| And hang our bodies from the lampposts
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| So that our shadows turn into bright lights
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| White lights, white heat
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| We’ll make as we’re blacking out in the center lane
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| We swerve to the beat, spill all the ink, no revisions
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| Do you hear the church bells ringing?
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| Wake up, wake up in an outline and try to speak
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| With the shattered voice of the lives we lead
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| Have we slept too long
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| Between the bullet holes in a stained glass window state?
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| And we’re praying
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| These are the symptoms of letting go all our hope
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| When we repent and we’re praying
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| We fall on the page, read in the margins
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| We are the symptoms of letting go all our hope
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| Someday we’ll be complete like modern saints
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| Baptize our kids in gasoline
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| And hang our doubts up in cathedrals
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| So that they turn to faith in the colored sun
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| Red rain, red rain
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| We’ll make as we’re blacking out in the center lane
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| We swerve to the beat, spill all the ink, no revisions
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| Do you hear the church bells ringing? |
| They ring for you
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| We woke up this morning to a sky with no air in it
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| And all the street’s are filled with a thousand burning crosses
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| And what we thought was the sunrise was just passing headlights
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| Still the choir girls sing
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| «Oh Lord, can You save us, save us?»
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| 'Oh Lord, sing hallelujah'
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| 'Oh Lord, can You save us, save us?'
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| 'Oh, Lord, sing hallelujah'
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| They are the symptoms of letting go all our hope
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| We’re falling asleep with open eyes
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| Falling asleep inside the chapel
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| Falling asleep in chalk outlines
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| Falling asleep as the headlights pass us by |