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Only A God
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Young Knives
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Running headlong into the fields of wipers Running headlong into the fields of wipers Running headlong into the fields of wipers Running headlong into the fields of wipers You dark eye on the function floor Your black gloss are my only liquids I keep you pinned, I keep you under the glass Under the glass, under the glass But maybe you're a joke to sleep I cannot take you, no, I cannot move me He drift off and you scuttle away But the worst part was the baler twine And the worst part was the life in your eyes What a waste What a waste What a waste What a waste Has an absence increased your stare? I really doubt it, after all, I'm a savage With your many legs touching my body Running headlong into the fields of wipers Running headlong into the fields of wipers Running headlong into the fields of wipers Running headlong into the fields of wipers Running headlong into the fields of wipers You've all done well, kept your perfect noses clean The beds are made and the governess is pleased I'm delighted to tell you you've made the grade The chance to forge the perfect future But I'm afraid There's nothing I can offer you All positions are taken Too many have had too much Nothing but bad timing Sorry, sorry, sorry, forgive me I'm only a god Oh, what a waste of Bordeaux Oh, what a waste Oh, what a waste of Bordeaux Oh, what a waste of Bordeaux Oh, what a waste of Bordeaux
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