- Lyrics ...

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What Sort Of Traitor

© E. Patrick Johnson, December, 1998

You probably don't have so much as a clue
What sort of traitor
I am to you

You write you speak you cultivate
I'm tired it's dark
You manipulate

Oh Oh Oh …

My precious hours you carelessly spend
Make me hide
Around the bend

Dead on my feet in this tiny town
Cut to your level
You're wearing me down


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since Tues, Feb 4/03 View