Sunday

humility is poison

And spill it out in the ragged floor
A thousand different versions of yourself

And if the old guard still offend,
They got nothing left on which you depend,
So enlist every ounce,
Of your bright blood,
And off with their heads,

Jump from a book,
You're not obliged to swallow anything you despise
See, those unrepenting buzzards want your life,
And they got no right
As sure as you have eyes,
They got no right

The Shins, Sleeping Lessons

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