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Portland Week: Black Hole Sun

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Won't you come

Mike Russell Foto

In my eyes
On the road
In the shade
So no one knows
Hides our face
Lies the trace
Rose City Red
In your disgrace

Boiling seats
Portland stench
'Neath the roof
The stands look dead
Call our name
Through the dream
And we'll hear you
Silent again

Black hole sun
Won't you come
And wash away the pain
Black hole sun
Won't you come
Won't you come

Stuttering
Black and bright
Steal the warm wind
Of our might
Times are gone
For honest wo & men
And sometimes
Far too long
Without the Cup
In my shoes
A busing march
All our youth
All our age
Pitch black send
Rose away
No one sings
We can not
Hear you

Hold our heads
Drown our fears
Till Portland just
Disappear