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The Trouble with Machines Lyrics
Tonight will the tide still turn for me. Lay the
spoken knife upon my cold
and waning heart. With a switchblade on her
tongue, this knife was all she
said. You're sore-throated. Nervous eardrums draw
the sound of a switchblade on
her tongue, stop spitting stapled at my heart.
Should I wait till April,
should I bother to return, should I wait till
April, in the Spring will I
lose my actions turning to your homicide.
spoken knife upon my cold
and waning heart. With a switchblade on her
tongue, this knife was all she
said. You're sore-throated. Nervous eardrums draw
the sound of a switchblade on
her tongue, stop spitting stapled at my heart.
Should I wait till April,
should I bother to return, should I wait till
April, in the Spring will I
lose my actions turning to your homicide.
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