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The City is Dead
The city is dead
And the graveyards tell all the tales
I pass by them and see them numbered
Like prison cells and prisoners
The coffin locks away the decay and putrefaction
So our night parties can go on
So our dreaming can go on
And our fathers die
And we move away
December sends a strong scent
That calls us from towns away
Back to the same graveyards
That holds our fathers
Back to the futility of first love
Back to churches with broken bells
Where the Virgin Mary is our bride
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