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My idle hands |
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There's nothing I can do |
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But be the Devil's plaything, baby |
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And know that I've been used |
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Her lips are cold |
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They suffer me |
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They drag me under, baby |
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Into your suffering |
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(hey) |
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Let your hands |
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Do what they will do |
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Stand inside |
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Make your Maker's move |
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And your eyes don't look the same |
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They seem enervated, in denial |
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Cast like stones |
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Like you been rode for miles, rode for miles |
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My eyes have seen |
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They have been shown |
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This is an occupation |
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To stand alone |
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I suffer you |
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You suffer me |
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We are the Devil's plaything |
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Into this reckoning |
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Let your hands |
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Do what they will do |
|
Stand inside |
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Make your Maker's move |
|
And your eyes don't look the same |
|
They seem enervated, in denial |
|
Cast like stones |
|
Like you been rode for miles, rode for miles |