| You’re wolfing down your heart
|
| You’ve hollowed out your soul
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| Your empty hands are enough to starve from
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| But still full enough to choke
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| Black crows, they’re waiting for you
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| They know your ego’s an empty bowl
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| You’re searching to hold on to
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| Just something you can use
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| The crumbs you dropped, the threads from your buttons
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| The laces off of your own shoes
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| Black crows, they’re waiting for you
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| They know your ego’s an empty bowl
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| Climb to the top of your world
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| To find that there’s nobody there
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| One set of boots at a time on the summit
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| It’s lonely when there’s no room to share
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| Black crows, they’re circling you
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| They know your ego’s an empty bowl
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| The heart’s to be given away
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| Just as it was made
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| The soul’s a much more ephemeral engine
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| Not tethered to earth-bound ways
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| So, say hello and settle in
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| Or hop upon the slightest breeze
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| If it doesn’t take you where you hoped it would go
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| May it land you square on your knees
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| Black crows, they’re waiting for you
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| They know your ego, your ego
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| Black crows on the telephone poles
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| You know your ego, you ego
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| Black crows on the side of the road
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| They know your ego’s an empty bowl
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| Whoa
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| You’re wolfing down your heart |