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• Heretics • | by Andrew Bird
Bored holes through our tongues
To sing a song about it
Held our breath for too long
'Til we're half sick about it
Tell us what we did wrong
And you can blame us for it
Turn a clamp on our thumbs
We'll sew a doll about it
And tell us all about it
We'll sew a doll about it

How about some credit now
Where credit is due
For the damage that we've done
We have wrought upon ourselves and others
With a slow and vicious gun
And although pratfalls can be fun,
Encores can be fatal

And then I hear you say,
Thank God it's fatal. Thank God it's fatal.
Not shy
Not shy of fatal, not shy of fatal. Thank God.
Thank God it's fatal. Thank God it's fatal.
Not shy
Not shy of fatal, not shy of fatal.

Wait just a second now
It's not all that bad
Are we not having fun?
You make your mountains of handkerchiefs
Where the mascara always runs
So be careful when you're done
You're bound to get post-natal
What did I just hear you say?

Thank God it's fatal
No, we don't want to hear the sound of a door
No, we don't want to hear the sound of a door
And we don't want to read the signs that you bore
You know the kind of sign you hang on a door
Saying, "We'll be back. What a crack."
Now don't you think we might have heard that before?
Now don't you think we might have heard that before?

Bored holes through our tongues
To sing a song about it
Held our breath for too long
'Til we're half sick about it
Tell us what we did wrong
And you can blame us for it
Turn a clamp on our thumbs
We'll sew a doll about it
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