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we'll shoot the moon,sell the house and leave soon..in the middle of the nightwhen you can't express..I lay you down in a warm bedwith all the machine guns dying'cuz when they get home,they're gonna have your head..on a pole.you know when they taste blood,you know when they get fed..they're like a whorewe'll shoot the moon,sell the house and leave soon..in the middle of the nightwell, well, well, welcome to hell. From Letras Mania