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Son, she said, have I got a little story for you.
Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay
Waitin', watchin' the clock, it's four o'clock, it's got to stop,
Freezin', rests his head on a pillow made of concrete, again.
At home drawing pictures of mountain tops with him on top,
Alone... listless... breakfast table in an otherwise empty room
She nursed him there, over a night
The waiting drove me mad... you're finally here and I'm a mess
I wish I was a neutron bomb, for once I could go off
He could've tuned in, tuned in, but he tuned out.
Oh where, oh where, can my baby be? The Lord took her away from me.
The selfish, they're all standing in line Faithing and hoping to buy themselves time
I felt the earth on Monday. It moved beneath my feet.
Yes, I understand that every life must end, uh-huh
I've got an unfortunate feelin' I've been beaten down
I seem to recognize your face.
Unsealed on a porch a letter sat. Then you said, 'I wanna leave it again.'
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