| They say, they say, they say, they say
|
| They say, they say, they say, they say
|
| They say, «Boy, you’ll catch your»
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| They say, «Son, you’ll catch your death»
|
| And does it come to us in a dream
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| Of a flaming over?
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| See, I turn and I burn
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| Though my quilts, they catch the fire
|
| And then it comes to us in a dream
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| Of a flaming over, flaming over
|
| Shots sound in the quiet room
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| In rags, in rags
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| Shots sound as the blood it blooms
|
| In rags, in rags
|
| The curtain coming down again
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| The wedding life is so old, dear
|
| Shots sound in the quiet room
|
| In rags, in rags
|
| The current’s climbing down the bed
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| The wedding life is so old
|
| The air it thins, the room it could just blow
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| You can’t see the flames but that is when they blow
|
| And so it comes to us in a dream
|
| Of a flaming over, dancing over, burning over
|
| Shots sound in the quiet room
|
| In rags, in rags
|
| Shots sound as the blood it blooms
|
| In rags, in rags
|
| The curtain’s coming down again
|
| The wedding life is so old, dear
|
| Shots sound in the quiet room
|
| In rags, in rags, in rags, in rags, in rags
|
| «I did it again», they say, and they say
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| And they say, and they say, and they say
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| And they say, and they say, they say
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| The moon may have been ripped out
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| Of the earth itself eons ago
|
| The moon may have been ripped out
|
| Of the earth itself eons ago
|
| The moon it may have been ripped out
|
| Of the earth itself eons ago |