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Let's Die Off
Come into the light again.
I’m ready to pick a fight again.
I’ve picked at this a thousand times,
And I don’t care to try again.
Bang bang three hundred shot dead.
Who doesn’t want to die again?
A little mace and paper spray,
Then all the saints go marching in,
Like a dagger in the wind.
Do you expect that to fly again?
If you put three holes in my sail,
Do you think I’ll ever glide again?
I don’t need a hundred marching men.
I need some one to confide in.
I need to know that nothing will explode,
In the beds where my kids lay their heads.
Somehow two thousand marching feet,
Just don’t sit quite right with me .
If born a day ago I still would know,
That those guys aren’t marching for me.,
And sure enough as it seems
Those suckers are marching towards me.
That’s how it is when the saints go marching in,
To silence wounds and slaughter dreams.