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Jarboe - Wooden Idols Lyrics

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Images on the sidewalk speak of dream's decent

Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament

Dirty canvases to call my own

Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see

Turning endless pages of this tragedy

Sculpting every move you compose a symphony

You plead to everyone,

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