
The white — oak is waiting for the cut Caked in flour, hair dyed blonde All he ever wanted was to dance with the crowd around him And now the’re gonna watch him fall Looking down into his darkened eyes The great white prize was held aloft And all he ever wanted was to dance with the crowd around him. But now they’re gonna watch him fall Take your turn, the floor is yours again Flour and blood, mixed up, and your hair dyed blonde Take your turn, the crowd is yours again Covered in blood, messed up, ready to take them on, ready to take them on
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