The skies have darkened
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and the seas have dried.
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Your honest ways have turned to lies.
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Your hands of promise
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turned to hands of pain.
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You take for granted the life that God create
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The life that God created.
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The frost and flowers
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Mother gave to you,
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the muffled whispers bleeding true.
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And it doesn't matter how
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what kind of eyes your looking through.
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Do you see our Mother's dying?
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Here's a picture for you.
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I wanna paint this picture for you!
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With every black choking for breath
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and every inch closer to death.
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Her hands are held out for you.
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(solo)
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You said the reasons
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we're in the cities that we all made
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was that we rage our poor Mother.
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Poor Mother.
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Poor Mother.
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Now that she's leaving
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and she's thrown off all that she gave,
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we dig the grave
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of our poor Mother!
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The grass ain't growing
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in my front yard, no.
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Poor Mother.
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Poor Mother.
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Poor Mother.
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-----------------
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Mother
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Blind Melon |