Intro
F# B F# G# F# B F# C# F#
Verse 1:
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Like they said in the days of old
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One day your faces will grow mold
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For the judgment is close at hand
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When the water will take back the land
Verse 2:
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From the tallest of the tall
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To the pick-axe on the wall
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When every bit of soul is canned
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The water will take back the land
Verse 3:
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There's a blow-dryer stinging your eyes
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Where the alcohol is starting to rise
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And a firehose on a marching band
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When the water will take back the land
Verse 4:
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Your table wheel blew into the smoke
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Where gravity certainly awoke
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There won't be no-one left you can stand
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When the water will take back the land
Verse 5:
F# B F#
The graveyard is starting to fry
F# G#
And the moonshiners taking to the sky
F# B F#
There's a stone turn into sand
F# C# F#
Where the water will take back the land
(end)