A black sheep boy revolves
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over canyons and waterfalls.
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A black sheep boy dissolves
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in syringe or in shower stall.
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He says "there's plenty of time to make you mine tonight,
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there's plenty of time to make you mine."
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He says "there's plenty of ways to know you're not dying,
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all right.
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Hell, there's plenty of light still left in your eyes.
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in your eyes."
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A black sheep boy grows horns, breathing smoke through his microphone.
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The airwaves stretch and they groan,
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bleeding, birthing his black diapason.
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He says "there's plenty of things to wear when you come to me,
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every color of sleeve to be rolled.
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There are millions of rolling eyes that still cling to me.
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Every language of king is concerned.
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So why
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did you bawl
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from the spell of some old holy song
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some liar laughed as he composed
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some liar I loved to control?
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A black sheep boy dissolves
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in hot cream,
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in sweet moans,
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in each dead bed and empty home,
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in each seething bacterium.
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Killing softly and serial,
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he lifts his head, handsome, horned, magisterial.
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He's the smell of the moonlight wisteria.
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He's the thrill of the abecedarian.
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(See the muddy hoofprints where he carried you?)
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And there's plenty of ways to claim his crimes tonight,
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and there's plenty of things to do on his dime.
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And there's plenty of ways to wear his hide tonight.
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You've got yours and I've got mine.
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You've got yours and I've got mine.
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So why
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did you flee?
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Don't you know you can't leave his control,
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only call all his wild works your own?
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So come back and we'll take them all on.
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So come back to your life on the lam.
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So come back to your old black sheep man.
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He says "I am waiting on hoof and on hand.
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I am waiting, all hated and damned.
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I am waiting - I snort and I stamp.
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I am waiting,
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you know that I am,
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calmly waiting to make you my lamb."
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-----------------
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So Come Back, I'm Waiting
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Okkervil River |