Walk around the room with a glaze in your stare.
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In your tuxedo suit.
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I will give it a name.
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Lower your defenses.
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Lower your casket.
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Open the door and open your grave.
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Murder.
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Now you're doing the waltz with your murderer.
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Mediocrity is the killer.
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You find yourself helpless.
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Christ is not a fashoin, fleeting away.
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He laid emeralds in her eyes,
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but I'd already tried a bracelt made of gold
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and a scarlet thread around her wrist.
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Everything was wrong so we sang sentimental songs.
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"Oh how seldom we belong but how elegant our kiss."
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We painted crooked lines
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but danced in perfect time to a love so much refined,
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we know not what it is until like a dullen wine we pour into a grief know before
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but never quite like this.
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All i know now is regret,
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it follows like a silhouette along the cobbelstone behind us,
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but has nothing to say except to innocently ask,
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its voice delicate as glass,
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"Do you see me when we pass?"
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but i continue on my way.
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|
-----------------
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Memphis Will Be Laid To Waste
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| Luti-Kriss |