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The rain has come |
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He surrenders to his fate |
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It is hiding him |
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From the sounds of his mental state. |
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And the rain falls |
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And the rain pours down. |
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It is fair to say |
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That he drifted |
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On the salt of the open sea |
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And the words that bleed in his mouth |
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Carry him, drag him to the deep. |
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Heave your arms |
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Caught adrift |
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Embrace the shade. |
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The drama is torn asunder |
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Thus I fall inside my fate |
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Waiting for the fever |
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And I will sing to my crusade. |
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Between the barren and fruitful |
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I got lost in the daily grind |
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There is no way that supports my |
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Dark conceptions to unwind. |
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I am the art for the people |
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The apple of their crying eyes |
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Missionaire for the seeking, now |
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Chewing their lives with contempt. |
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Like a stormfront that he precedes |
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It is the sound of the dreamer that screams |
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Bashing clocks he had always wondered |
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But never spoke of |
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It is the strength, the weakness |
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And the perfect in between. |
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The strength |
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The weakness |
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And the perfect in between. |
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Facing everything that he walked upon |
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The eye had hurried by |
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Compromising the smallest |
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Fractions of a particle. |