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There is an aftertaste to celebrate |
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In the swings of my suicide, |
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Or the lines I will draw by myself |
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Within the grasp, fictitious pasts, and all my doubts |
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How can you see through the shadows |
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With the blinding light (Burning in your eyes) |
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So where will all of you be |
|
When the killing fields are cleared and the world divides? |
|
How can you see through the shadows |
|
With the blinding light (Burning in your eyes) |
|
So where will you be |
|
When the killing fields are cleared and this world divides? |
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The loss of heart becomes unbearable |
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And a vanishing point becomes intact |
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So when a six foot drop is my best |
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I will expect nothing less than a soldier's death |
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How can you see through the shadows |
|
With the blinding light (Burning in your eyes) |
|
So where will all of you be |
|
When the killing fields are cleared and the world divides? |
|
How can you see through the shadows |
|
With the blinding light (Burning in your eyes) |
|
So where will you be |
|
When the killing fields are cleared and this world divides? |
|
There is an aftertaste to celebrate |
|
In the swings of my suicide, |
|
Or the lines I've drawn |
|
At last for redemption |
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And finally for my forgiveness |
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In the end this bitterness bends |
|
Simply encased in my withered hands |
|
How can you see through the shadows |
|
With the blinding light (Burning in your eyes) |
|
So where will all of you be |
|
When the killing fields are cleared and the world divides? |
|
How can you see through the shadows |
|
With the blinding light (Burning in your eyes) |
|
So where will you be |
|
When the killing fields are cleared and this world divides? |