House of the Rising Sun
de Funeral For A Friend
Broken hands, so sans soleil
It lights my way through these
Empty streets at night
Dragging heels, the cold air stabs me
Like a needle running with this thread
Scissors cut me dead and gone
Living like the blade I carry
I never thought of you
Living all alone,
Scissors cut me dead I never felt
Like anyone could ever be
So far from home
The day begins
When the music ends its days
Like these that I
Wish I were somewhere else.
And I can't forget my own name
Replace it with a voice
That carries on
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