December wind cuts like a knife
On a neglected face
Suburban sprawling on a thick rich rug
Before the fireplace
If your love grows cold
You've got to warm it up
If your love grows cold
You've got to give it up
He's in prison she walks the street
There are no children here
City fathers spin that wheel
Manicured sincere
Rush Limbaugh and the state patrol
Solving South L.A.
Big blessings in a big glass house
Here comes the ricochet
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