| Preachers in the little deaths, they got what they’ve asked
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| They got an autumned hearse as it drove right by
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| And I all got together
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| And I all dropped together
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| And I all tossed and turned
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| As I drowned out my peace
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| I had my own little deaths
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| With my own little kinds
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| War is my mistress adore, the one that I’ve always had
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| War is the mainline mirage that fills what I can’t
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| In the eyes of the has-beens
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| In the trails of the animal cunts and I know
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| War is my mistress adore, the one that I’ve always had
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| War is the mainline mirage that feels what I can’t
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| War, war is my mistress adore that I’ve always had
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| War is the mainline that feels what I can’t
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| And when my bankrupt neck
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| And my skull full of debt can’t stand
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| I’m making my way towards death’s wooden door
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| And I’m bringing a fucking battering ram
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| I’ll bring a fucking battering ram
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| In the name
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| In the name of the kindred dirt
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| In the name of our failures
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| In the name of our failures well-earned
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| All of us has-beens
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| All of us animal cunts
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| All of us bleed in the name of all of us born
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| All of us born
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| With hellionaire blood |