| Good evening, Mr. Mattel
|
| We’ve found this tripe in your house
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| Where’s that place you?
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| What’s that make you?
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| If you’ve got «nothing to hide»
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| We’ve still got something to find
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| You can change your mind
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| But you’re on borrowed time
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| Lives are on the line
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| The blood’s on you and me
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| Lives are on the line
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| So I need you to speak up
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| This is an offer and not an option
|
| Count backward from ten
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| I might as well O.D. |
| Akin to a friend.
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| A name I’d confess that would make me a mess: Persephone.
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| Queen of my fire, the underworld’s eye & apple of mine.
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| Oh, you thought you saw my soul.
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| Paid for, traded, and sold.
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| I may not be so bold after all.
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| Hang my head above my bedroom window
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| Lights from the street beckon
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| Me to love all I despise, why?
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| My mistress, my heart beats for you.
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| I’m distressed, all I need was you.
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| Give it up
|
| So what does that make me? |
| A rat? |
| A fiend?
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| A «You-never-knew-the-regret-I-would-be?»
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| A 1−2-3, switched up loyalty
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| But in a sea of bleeding, I’ve got buoyancy
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| Time’s up: You’ve wasted enough of mine.
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| Now, I’ll go back over this: One last time.
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| Martyrs won’t keep them alive
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| We don’t take kindly to espionage or treason.
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| Give it up boy. |
| Save yourself from the:
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| Retribution that descends on the fallen.
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| There’s no sense in finding out
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| What you can do nothing about.
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| Heresy and infestation of these thoughts can break the chains of
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| Status quo that maintains curtains; |
| wool over the eyes of burdened,
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| Broken people with no future short of cremation and sutures,
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| Cold steel tables ending fables, lies that keep the hope alive. |