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• Late March, Death March

  ...so we start the black march homeThrough a stale and silent night.There's a funeral in your eyes and a drunk priest at your sideStaggering sermons never washThere's no reproach, from the lit touch paper, bothGot stubborn marrow in bastard bonesShould we just get home, sleep this off?Throw some sorry'...

  Frightened Rabbit Pedestrian Verse (Deluxe Edition)