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lyrics

Death is the devil’s work
Love is a cheap card trick
Truth is a poor man’s dream
Thought is a quick-sand pit.
And all my years spent cursing up the stairs,
“Good morning, God.
Get up.
Forget those bad dreams.”
We’ve been awake
and waiting far too long,
And thinking up our deaths.
Sleep is a sick, sad joke.

credits

from His Black Teeth, released July 24, 2015

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The Republic Of Wolves New York, New York

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