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The signs in the sky won't let up |
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The clouds assume the shape |
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Of catholic girls with Uzis |
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All of them on the make |
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All of them out to make a million |
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By the time they hit 13 |
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And it's all in the colour |
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Of the old sun setting |
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This brand new age of Blood Letting |
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And it's all in the eyes of me |
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I'm suspicious of my wife |
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I suspect she left long ago |
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I recall my finger on the button of the ejector seat |
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But I can't recall letting her go |
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The electric Christ has canonized her |
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She's surrounded by a chemical glow |
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It has to be said |
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It's today's edition of the |
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Book of the Dead |
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It has to be said |
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In this worst of all possible worlds |
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On this planet of perpetual sorrow |
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I've found the best of all possible girls |
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She's as pure and white and bright as tomorrow |
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|
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My life plays like Grand Guignol |
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Blood and Portents everywhere |
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They say they can't remove |
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these signs from my eyes |
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But I suspect that they just don't care |
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I've got a harsh new brand of aftershave |
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That gives you that thousand yard stare |
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Why can't you get it |
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Through your head |
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Now is the Golden Age of Bloodshed |
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It needs to be said |
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|
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In this worst of all possible worlds |
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On this planet of perpetual sorrows |
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I've found the best of all possible girls |
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She's pure and white and bright as tomorrow |