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Hear their hoofbeats like drums, you're the fox - they're the hunt. Their hounds have your scent and they're thirsty for blood. Their crosshairs are trained on your back as you run beneath the moon, they're coming for you. They're colder than water and swifter than death. So don't fear his scythe or his icy breath. They'll tear your heart right from your chest and ring out every ounce of life but you'll never level that debt. So baby, let's drink to guilt and to shame from a bottle we can't afford as the streets paved with gold fill thieves and with whores dancing and dangling jewels from their necks. A carnival game - a balloon and a dart, they're claiming their prize and piercing your heart. Swim hard and fast but they'll circle like sharks come to drag you beneath the ocean blue. They're coming for you. So baby, let's drink to guilt and to shame from a bottle we can't afford as the city grows cold, broken glass on the floor is shining and shimmering like dead star light. In the bouquets they sold there's no roses just thorns and we're buying the blood that they drew from our palms.

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from Mare's Tails and Mackerel Scales, released February 1, 2012

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The Cranberry Isles West Chester, Pennsylvania

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