FAKE BEARD, REAL MOUSTACHE

There's nothing inside besides what we let in
As we dance on the edge of the armageddon
We can run, we can hide, we can try to survive
Or roll back our eyes and die with a smile
Our fingertips grasp the ledge, if we let go
I guess you get to say I told you so

But I don't believe what you believe so what happens to me?
Spit it out or shut your mouth, right now

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