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A hand behind a curtain |
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Empty theatre strange and new |
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Where the candles were chosen |
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To light the sullen view |
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White rose in the garden of death |
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Sleeping from her date of birth |
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But when the rain was falling down |
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Her time had come to take off the crown |
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A hand behind a curtain |
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Empty theatre strange and new |
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Where the candles were chosen |
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To light the sullen view |
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Different shapes of the universe |
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On one nail of a prayer |
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Master, follower, slave? |
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Different choices in one grave |
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Your book of knowledge is empty |
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Shiny drops of tears on these white pages |
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How beautiful was the myth of heart |
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Apophenia formed another living lie |
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But the mourning cannot hear |
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Debilitating the unsightly pyramids of horror and fear |
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And when the mutilated tongue creates new letters |
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We will fight for writing the brave words |
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And believing them |
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When the hand can rise and hold |
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We will fight to be inside |
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But a mirage was the idea of sin |
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Cause we were born so blind |
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Born killed hope of salvation |
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A whole illusion of equations |
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And biochemical emotions |
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But the logic still the same |
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I don't intend to dream again |
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When the hand can rise and hold |
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We will fight to be inside |
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But a mirage was the idea of sin |
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Cause we were born so blind |
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Kiss the whore to feed the role |
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Then regret to purify your soul |
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We don't even know what the role is |
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But when the curtains are pulled down |
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I took off the mask |
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But still I hear the claps of another existing hands |
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For I have spent all my life to know but failed |