Hurled to the center of the Earth again,
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The place where it's hot, love,
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You know, it hurts to breathe in,
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And the watershed you balance on is begging it,
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Well did he ever know,
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Will he ever know?
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The trees in the moonshine are a dark lattice,
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So you catalog in the angle you notice,
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In a vacuum you recharge to record this,
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So you won't make it easy on me.
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And I can't go into this no more,
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It puts too many thorns on my mind,
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And the necessary balloon lies a corpse on the floor,
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We've pissed on far too many sprites,
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And they're all standing up for their rights.
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Born on a desert floor, you've the deepest thirst,
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And you came to my sweet shore to indulge it,
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With the wan and dreaming eyes of an orphan,
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But there is not enough,
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There is not enough.
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Out of a gunnysack for red rabbits,
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Into the crucible to be rendered an emulsion,
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And we can't allow a chance they'd restore themselves,
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So we can't make it easy on you.
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Undaunted, you bathed in hollow cries,
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The boils were swollen, sunburned eyes,
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A reward for letting nothing under their skin,
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So help me, I don't know, I might,
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Just give the old dark side a try.
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Don't cast your warring eyes on the shore,
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Did we even the score?
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I still owe you for the hole in the floor,
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And the ghost in the hall,
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Who decides who paddles over the falls?
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Yeah, who makes the call,
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Who makes the call?
|
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Well, I know there's an eventual
|
Release from every scale of crime,
|
But the necessary balloon lies a corpse on the floor,
|
We've pissed on far too many good intentions held by clever sprites,
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And they're all standing up for their rights.
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-----------------
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Red Rabbits
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The Shins |