It was that night they came for you
The proper thing was to kill yourself
Before they got you and made you jog
For all the trains of thoughts

It was that night they came for you
The proper thing was to cure yourself
Before they got you and made you jog
For other trains of thoughts

Hear, no one's here, waiting for you
A priest in my patience, he was alone
And nobody knows what the south is like
Here, and no more strange
Nobody knows what that sounds like


Lyrics submitted by stentorian

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