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by The Number Twelve Looks Like You
Buy album CD: Here At The End Of All Things
There has never ever been a dull moment - we can kiss the highest clouds and name them after movie stars.
Your fingers, they're flower pots.
And as the cuticles crack the stem comes through, you'll never know a poet's eyes unless you see them for yourself.
Hear me now.
After the truth is found there will be a suicide.
Hear me now and grant my wishes as sins, not ignorance.
Endangered now, with pockets full of oil.
All I have left is a face fucking, homicidal waste of time.
Take these roads and take them fast.
My legs collaps in harmony with the music and I plummet down forever.
I can write the dialogue to a script about your death.
I'm walking across 2nd Avenue... I'm tripping across Lexington... I'm falling down Park Avenue... and dying on Broadway.
We can wish amongst wish, hope against hope.
You have become a new bloody valentine.
Over and over again, I've watched you killing yourself.
Hold my hand, let's start the decay.
One shot in the mouth.
You'll never know a poet's eyes unless you see them for yourself
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