(R. Pollard)



The yellow moon looks down now

Lights the scene for the night ahead

Surround the chairs in a circle 

And I just can't sit down



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But the freak stares on 

Puts on his glasses and he smokes it down

That don't matter for much now/dear/downhere

He says, "I'm gonna put your head on

and don't you screw it up."



The message was delivered

The mothers wept uncontrollably

Mad children went to the warehouse

Heavens trumpets blow



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