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Raise your chin and howl |
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Until all your insides are inside out |
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The air is black and foul |
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Sitting in the basement and wanting for you to come down |
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When your hands move like roots |
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Making their way through the ground |
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Oh, come all ye faithful |
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Come men, women, servants and sons |
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Leave behind your golden wings for the sticks and rocks and mud |
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And if thee should die tonight |
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Well it won't be without a sound |
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When your hands move like roots |
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Making their way through the ground |
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When your hands move like roots |
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When your hands move like roots |
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When your hands move like roots |
|
Making their way through the ground |