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knives - jerome pradon lyrics

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just this morning the blade
cutting into my bread
cutting into the b*tter
it made me afraid
it was not quite the same
as the evening before
when it sliced through the bread
it seemed honest and sure
now it twisted and turned
all too quick in my hand
slipping agile and sharp
full of wicked demand
best beware
stainless steel
don’t be fooled or cajoled
throw it back to the devil
who covets your soul

i have always mistrusted the bright beveled edge
of the knife like a mirror reflecting the wretched
existence i’ve led
all my guilt has transformed
every innocent blade to a ravenous sword

i have always mistrusted the bright beveled edge
of the knife like a mirror reflecting the wretched
existence i’ve led
all my guilt has transformed
every innocent blade to a ravenous sword
steely knives have seized my heart
tears have left me torn apart
torn apart
torn apart
torn apart

silver scissors are lurking with needles and thread
they conspire and whisper of torture and dread
close at hand in the kitchen the cleavers are near
joining in with the ice pick to shout ‘we are here’
and the florentine dagger that opens my post
plays at guillotine tricks full of swagger and boast
yes and even the nail file in league with the rest
cries out ‘murder’ from deep in my medicine chest

living with daggers drawn is no way to exist
for in spite of the danger my wishes persist
to be held and to hold even though i can see
hanging over my head the sword of damocles

living with daggers drawn is no way to exist
for in spite of the danger my wishes persist
to be held and to hold even though i can see
hanging over my head the sword of damocles

steely knives have seized my heart
tears have left me torn apart
torn apart
torn apart
torn apart
as for peace in the streets
is there anyone still
who can hope to be saved
and evade being k!lled
on the boulevard the barber, his razor in hand
in the alley the blade in the fist of the d*mned
look no matter what kind every knife leads a dance
hypnotizing entrancing they wait for their chance
in the clinic the scalpel is fl!ckering red
at the butcher’s the meat grinder waits to be fed

and the woodchopper’s hatchet
the dressmaker’s shears
and the fireman’s axe
and the fisherman’s spear
and a boy’s pocket*knife
and a p*wn’s bayonet
all are hungry and hoping for blood to be let

and the scythe in the wheat
and the plough in the earth
the stiletto in the back
and the dagger at work
and the pitchfork that prods at the guilt ridden dead
executioner’s blade: yet one more rolling head!
steely knives have seized my heart
tears have left me torn apart
torn apart
torn apart
torn apart

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