I wonder if this blade ran through someone's side
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The blood wiped away to hide
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How evil you grandfather was 'fore he died
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But war can make monsters out of us all
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I'm sure I'd become one if I was called
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And then it would be my blade
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Here at this yardsale
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The guitar I am holding is way out of tune
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The neck it is warped and the saddle is through
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I wonder if sweet music ever was played
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From the hands of a boy to a girl in the shade
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From this rickety ghost of a song
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Here at this yardsale
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A dollar for anything here on this quilt
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A price tag for hands from which all things are built
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A blanket of voices speak pleasure in shame
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Flowers of plastic and fruit of the same
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A basket of nothing at all
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Here at this yardsale
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So if I had the money I'd buy everything
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And cover the whole lot with good gasoline
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And burn it for all that I care for the past
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And rid mother earth of what never should last
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And give her the present of ash
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Made of a yardsale
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Yardsale
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The Avett Brothers |