Know I'm still alive because I'm bleeding.
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Nine lives and three sheets to the wind.
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The story goes our hero boasts little more than a theory in its death throes.
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No solace found in what I put to ground, but I'm stronger than you know I am.
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This race is fixed, just so you know. Ready, steady, ante-up, one your mark, GO!
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And I know how this cat's gonna go: wrong way, full tilt, with his eyes closed.
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Reckon the wreckage and reap what's left, pay no mind, be resigned to some fine print.
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There's no guarantor of right. Every norm we know is spite.
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Tempered by my fair resolve, the safest bet's on the writer and those who never flinched.
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So c'mon, c'mon, and let's
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Raise the stakes 'cause I'm a contender and I'm swingin'.
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Raise our glasses here's to the quitters. Thanks for giving up.
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And I couldn't give a damn who's happy now citing law as right from the top on down.
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Do you only ever tire when you hit the ground?
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I feel it... I feel my rage a thousand different ways.
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Which one dare you tempt now?
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Big winner, Mr. Knowtail. Breastplate and charter, back to the wall.
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Still paper, and they've killed for less. What's that they say about hedged bets?
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Bulls and hammers made good neighbours... if you make 'em.
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Slings and arrows fight for ploughshares, when they need 'em most.
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Embrace the crimson, broad, recoiling rage; the indignity and strife.
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Don't deny what humanity exists in knee-jerk contentions of right.
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Don't we ever recall discomfort?
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Don't dare ever settle for parchment or other such patrons of bloodless guile.
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Feast your eyes: it's not where I lay my head, but how I sleep at night.
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What I Destroyed On My Summer Vacation
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Bombs Over Providence |