Dry The River
Lion's Den
Night descended like a blanket, on the house
Where I miss you like a limb.
I close the curtains, shun the working and
I put your record on.
I put your record on.
I, the lonely tax collector, never had
Such a feeling before you came.
You descended, I amended
And I need it like a hole in the head.
I need it like a hole in the head.
You took me to the lion's den
And waited for the beast to begin.
[repeat]
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