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No Knife
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Hit Man Dreams
In dreams I forget
that I cross to someplace
and shake off what I know
I breathe you in.
(Oohh) They're playing our song.
. . .
These days I'm hard-pressed
In some personal things
to become the shape in your doorway
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to bury you under the boards with the rest (rats?)
(Oohh) They're playing our song.
. . .
Run rabbit!
Run, run, Run rabbit run!
I keep missing you.
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