Your neck is craned a lazy quarter of the distance down your back
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creating a reason for the blood to go there.
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To know now my only veins are your hands across my back where you're resting.
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Where you rest broke from the sins of our shoulders to struggle and end.
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Run its motors to waters and everything follows.
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Cried at the funeral because you can go anywhere to be hallowed by thy name
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and mine name ours.
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I'm dying to try to stop the wind,
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leave the leaves left and leave to be hollowed by thy name and mine name ours.
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It's hours to be where b is for Bethlehem where Jesus was a fisherman.
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I know he starts and finishes men but I Don't know why.
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Jesus was a fisherman,
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fishing men from the devil hands,
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so the devil was made red to live a damned life.
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And the red in your face is touchable to the blues and the Muscles in a memory.
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Where I have lost my voice
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and I smell like paste again where we'll be resting,
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when we rest.
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My bends bend my anchor to pull people out of the bible
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to stand in the rain and be where b is for Bethlehem.
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-----------------
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B Is For Bethlehem
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The Promise Ring |