Roland Orzabal
hypnoculture
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Face those facts, you can't relax
You gotta get that train back on its tracks
Till the morning comes, the work is done
Find your place beneath the sun
Rake those leaves, as thick as thieves
Then go and put your heart back on its sleeve
Till September rain, and all its pain dies in vain
And I know what you're thinking
The world is shrinking your bones