| Camphor crossed with lace it is the witching hour
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| Cinematic but crude
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| Teasing all my feelings out you move away
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| It seems so natural to you
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| Still the siren climbing up her victory tower
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| Like there’s something left to prove
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| I trap the beads of sweat that run between my eyes
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| And free the fever to move
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| I’m drawing the line, I’m drawing the line
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| I’m drawing the line, I draw the line
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| And I have my pride
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| I’m taking control, I’m taking control
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| I’m taking control, I’m taking control
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| And I save my soul
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| I’m shutting you out, I’m shutting you out
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| I’m shutting you out, I’m shutting you out
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| And I have no doubt
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| Dreamt the sound of scissors cutting stitches out
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| Then discarding the used
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| Recording all my problems onto memory cards
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| Your compassion unmoved
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| Unto others what they always do to you
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| The most twisted of your rules
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| Distill malaise and photograph the hole it leaves
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| Running out a copy for you
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| I’m drawing the line, I’m drawing the line
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| I’m drawing the line, I draw the line
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| And I have my pride
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| I’m taking control, I’m taking control
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| I’m taking control, I’m taking control
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| And I save my soul
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| I’m shutting you out, I’m shutting you out
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| I’m shutting you out, I’m shutting you out
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| And I have no doubt
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| I’m drawing the line, I’m drawing the line
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| I’m drawing the line, I draw the line
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| And I have my pride
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| I’m taking control, I’m taking control
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| I’m taking control, I’m taking control
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| And I save my soul |