Console me in my darkest hour
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Convince me that the truth is always grey
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Caress me in your velvet chair
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Conceal me from the ghosts you cast away
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I'm in no hurry
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You go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch.
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Fill their heads with rumors of impending doom
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It must be true.
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Console me in my darkest hour
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And tell me that you always hear my cries
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I wonder what you've got conspired
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I'm sure it dawns a consolation prize
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I'm in no hurry
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You go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch.
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Fill the night with stories, the legend grows
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Of how you got lost
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But you made your way back home
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You went and sold your soul
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Like a Roman vagabond, yeah
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I heard you from the wishing well in the city
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Console me in my darkest hour
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Then you throw me down
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I'm in no hurry
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You go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch
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Fill your crown with rumors
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Impending doom, it must be true
|
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But you made your way back home
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You sold your soul like a Roman vagabond
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And about how you got lost,
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But you made your way back home
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An allegiance dead and gone
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I'm losing touch
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-----------------
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Losing Touch
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The Killers |