Lyrics Future Wars - La Dispute
(Crows,
wipe
the
blood
from
the
end
of
your
claws.
said
the
vulture,
Lets
gather
like
storms
for
the
war.
Crows,
as
the
night
turns
its
skin
into
coal,
Dark
as
corpses
but
cluttered
with
gold.
They
will
label
you
thieves,
wolves,
and
whores
but
you
are
nothing
less
than
angels,
cast
down
and
covered
in
black.)
Aint
this
the
bloodiest
mess
in
the
world?
said
the
virgin,
a
torn
little
girl.
Boy,
you
went
and
made
a
sweet
wreck
of
my
soul,
and
Ive
already
forgiven
you.
And
blood
was
running
down
Her
dress
in
streams
into
her
hands
where
she
Was
stitching
on
the
flesh
he′d
left
In
sections
on
the
carpet
near
a
bed
that
Never
slept
while
you
were
sleeping
In
her
clothes
that
he
had
laid
with
on
The
floor
with
all
his
fingers
crossed
In
hoping
that
that
distance
Wouldn't
grow.
But
how
it
grew,
And
how
it
hurt,
And
how
it
hallowed
every
memory
he′d
Never
felt
was
threatened
by
a
thing
the
world
Could
conjure
up
to
kill
them,
but
he
let
it
kill
them
What
a
bunch
of
fools
we
lovers
are.
And
now
shes
smiling,
with
her
self
put
back
together,
just
a
shadow
of
the
past
before
the
war.
All
sewn
together,
like
a
city
sick
from
storms
and
sick
of
waiting
for
a
god
to
call
the
floods
out
of
her
home.
What
a
bunch
of
fools
we
lovers
are
When
tempted
by
the
taste
of
flesh.
"My
boy,
you
are
nothing
more
than
a
thief
and
a
whore
in
a
suit
of
the
finest
of
armor."
laughed
the
vulture.
"Pathetic
little
child,
i
am
embarrassed
for
you."
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