| Green hills and enemies
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| These things, they make us sentimental inside
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| Your words are gelignite
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| Or just another sentimental aside
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| We’re catching bullets in our teeth
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| And though it’s easy if you know how it’s done
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| They split the secret up six ways
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| Before they gave it to us just before dawn
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| And now we don’t remember
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| Our blood and guts are out
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| We spread our bones across the table at night
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| We cut our fingers off
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| To give ourselves those little extra insights
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| We’re catching bullets in our teeth
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| And though they try hard not to say how it’s done
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| They always do
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| They spill the secret out six ways
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| And beg for our forgiveness just before dawn
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| And now we don’t remember
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| We’re catching bullets in our teeth
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| It’s hard to do but they taste sweet
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| And if they take a couple out
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| We’ll try to work things out
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| We’re catching bullets with our heads
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| And hearts and all the darkest parts of us
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| It’s strange to find such light
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| In such endless night
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| So sweet to lose a friend
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| You leave the church and taste the air in your lungs
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| Old lies and fireflies
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| Carve angels on your eyes, and all is undone
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| You whisper prayers into the dark
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| Up to a god in whom you’ve never believed
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| You always do
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| You split the secret up six ways
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| But it won’t make it any easier to see
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| And now we don’t remember
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| We’re catching bullets in our teeth
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| It’s hard to do but they’re so sweet
|
| And if they take a couple out
|
| We try to work things out
|
| We’re catching bullets with our heads
|
| And hearts and all the darkest parts of us
|
| It’s strange to find such light
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| In such endless night
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| We’re catching bullets in our backs
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| We sent the undertaker back
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| Into the garden in the drought
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| To try to work things out
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| We’re catching bullets with the best
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| Resources that we’ve got
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| We’re happy, then again, we’re not
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| We shout through the endless doubt |