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Standing alone in the backfield again, Jack, dreams he's the Quarterback;
Searching the field for an option that yields some solution,
But every one falls incomplete,
Always incomplete.
And as we are getting older,
I am getting colder,
And this is the last time,
Yes this is the last time,
I'll look at you the same way,
No, this is fucking doomsday,
And this is the last time,
Yes this is the last time,
I'll look at you and think that;
"There's a kid that knows my soul".
Five years late they begin to debate,
Whether or not, they forgot, that crumbling point of contention.
And as lies break down you can hear the sound,
Of those galleons on the horizon,
Smuggling salt for your wounds by the light of the moon,
And your sweet Captain's deceit.
And your sweet Captain's deceit.
Make her believe in you for five whole years,
And then vanish like Rosencrantz?
Well what else would you call it boy; You're a sickness.
Gotta get the right night, the right time, to tell tales of tragedy,
You Quarterback Sneak.
Yet everything relies upon this one pure injection,
And he's ever backing down.
Now let her go or spend your life in a lie which,
One day, she'll see through anyway;
You're not exactly an actor,
Christ, you're barely a man.
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Back~sneak
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Back~sneak
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Quar-ter-back
Back~sneak back~sneak back~sneak back~sneak.
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