A black sheep boy revolves over canyons and waterfalls.
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A black sheep boy dissolves in syringe or in shower stall.
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He says
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¡°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
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¡°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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A black sheep boy grows horns,
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breathing smoke through his microphone.
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The airwaves stretch and they groan, bleeding, birthing his black diapason.
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Says
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¡°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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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, 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, I¡¯ve got mine.
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You¡¯ve got yours, 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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Says
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¡°I'm waiting on hoof and on hand.
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I'm waiting, all hated and damned.
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I'm waiting, I snort and I stamp.
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I'm waiting, you know that I am,
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calmly waiting to make you my lamb¡±
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So Come Back, I Am Waiting
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Okkervil River |