I have your see I have your ears my hand
They're blue and cold as a meat store or an
Go for a pound ten ground and down

When the morning after coughs a cripple mile
Curse the morning after Tuesday's Childe
Waking to the hearts of gold in my hand
Gauge report pending promised land

Here is my heart and head smashed sharp as a blade
When blind I say to a cold share of ale
Go for a pound ten ground and down

Careful when your skin returns to dirt and gold
Bone and plasters crash the centerfold
Miracle and madness seem to start the race

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