Listen up sweetie.
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We all know that you're a beautiful girl in this horrible world.
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In this suggestion of horror.
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The portraits on the walls...
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Look at their eyes, they always seem to follow.
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Look at their eyes, they always seem to follow me!
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Out of tune this tale of terror.
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The solemn tolling of the funeral bells.
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I want to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours
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where everyday's a Bone Palace Ballet.
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Biting the flesh from your finger.
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You know, I just can't help myself.
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I wish to believe, but belief is a graveyard.
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May this light never see morning, as finally one will not.
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Maybe you're the one that's overrated.
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Shriek and scream much too horrified to speak.
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Out of tune this tale of terror.
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The solemn tolling of the funeral bells.
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I want to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours
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where everyday's a Bone Palace Ballet.
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(Flowers of red, begin to bloom on the white sheets in her room.
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Our lifeless bodies lying there rotting. For all of time, and eternity)
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This morning I woke up, I rubbed my eyes,
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and I took a quick glance around the room,
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and saw what happened here last night.
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There was blood on the walls,
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and the sheets smelled like sweat and sex.
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We have narrowed it down to a butcher knife,
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and the mockingbird with the blood.
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Out of tune this tale of terror.
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The solemn tolling of the funeral bells.
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I want to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours
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where everyday's a Bone Palace Ballet.
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-----------------
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Is It Progression If A Cannibal Uses A Fork?
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The Chiodos Bros. |