Mama, put my guns in the ground, I can't shoot them anymore. That long black cloud is coming down.
Mothers tell your children not to do the things I have done, to spend my life in sin and misery in the House of the Rising Sun.
You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing.
Each one of them suffering from the failures of their day, with strings of guilt they tried hard to guide us.
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