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Evil Spawn

Waxahatchee

Tigers Blood


Take my money, I don't work that hard
I fall asleep in the beating heart
Of a dying breed peddling some lost art
Watch it fade, watch it fall apart


You let me go on and on
In the tall grass of a con
The prestige of some evil spawn
Well, I guess that's yours to settle on


But there ain't nothing to it, babe
We can roll around in the disarray
In the final act of the good old days
Ooh


What you're holding so close calls you by name
What you thought was enough now seems insane


If we stand out in some wild city street
Dodging every car, every thief, and disease
Catching tiny crumbs in the hеartless breeze
Say we'rе tough as nails, say we're both naive

You let me fill every room
Wax poetic and presume
Your principles ripen into a fragile tomb
Watch it split in two
What you do and you say sustain harmony
What you thought was enough
Well, it works for me


There ain't nothing to it, babe
We can roll around in the disarray
In the final act of the good old days
In the final act of the good old days
Ooh
Good old days
Ooh
Good old days
Ooh
Good old days
Ooh
Good old

Compositor: Kathryn Crutchfield (Waxahatchee)
ECAD: Obra #46304218

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