mewithoutyou the soviet
God is love and love is real, but the dead are dancing with the dead, And whatever s charming disappears while all things lovely only hurt my head As I gather stones from fields like pearls of water on my fingers ends (And I carefully wrap them up in safe from From things that break As the nighttime shined like day it saw my sorry face and hair a mess But it liked me best that besides, how else could I confess When I looked down like if to pray, Well, I was looking down her good God Please, catch for us the foxes in the the little foxes. So turn your ears, you musicians, to silence Because they only come out when it s quiet, Their tails brushing over your Oh, wake up, sleepers, and rise from the dead Or the fur that they shed that s gonna lay on your bed In a delicate orangeish cinnamon ah, but I don t need this I don t need this For I have my I don t need this.
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