| Too much patience,
|
| No resistance,
|
| Within shouting distance,
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| You can hear a blind man"s bluff,
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| Dragging names through the mud and still bitting his tongue,
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| The devil"s in the air and I"m spitting out prayers,
|
| While the ravenous all eat their fill,
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| Tell me, tell me a story,
|
| Tell me not to worry, or pick up the phone,
|
| So turning, turning a deaf ear,
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| So that I don"t hear them throwing stone,
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| Too much hogwart,
|
| Not enough hearsay,
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| Always made the front page,
|
| You could use a fine tooth comb to get a word from the wise,
|
| Would be a welcome surprise,
|
| Keep an ear to the ground so to drown out the sound of the failures that make
|
| me whole,
|
| Tell me, tell me a story,
|
| Tell me not to worry, or pick up the phone,
|
| So turning, turning a deaf ear,
|
| So that I don"t hear them throwing stone,
|
| These walls don"t talk,
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| Even when somebody knocks,
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| These walls don"t stand,
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| For anyone else but themselves,
|
| These walls don"t fall,
|
| Even when gravity"s failing us all,
|
| Tell me, tell me a story,
|
| Tell me not to worry, or pick up the phone,
|
| So turning, turning a deaf ear,
|
| So that
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| I don"t hear them throwing stone. |