The MansionThe Microphones
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There's no end, there's no glory
There's a slow resounding story
There's no place to feel certain
There's nobody waiting for me
There's no stand of trees, no morning
There's a curve without a warning
There is weird and lasting sadness
There's no large and lengthy warming
There's no heat, there's no expansion
There's no door into the mansion
Lengthy warming, sweet removal
Sweet expanse, sweet and substantial
There's no flesh
There's no fingers in my hair
I see a tunnel
We built walls, tall and solid
Between the treasure and the shovel
I see an inn, I see a fountain
There's a trail over the mountain
There's no wayside, there's no stopping
And the peak is wide and rocky
There's no ceiling in the mansion
There's no waste, no hesitation
There's no crack of dawn, no morning
Just an everlasting warming
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