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Angra |
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Holy Land |
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Z.i.t.o. |
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(Loureiro, Bittencourt, Matos) |
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Somehow I turn around and see |
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My nerves break down inside |
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Maybe you might know much more than me |
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So tell me what is right to say |
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Down the weakness of my soul |
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Lie the secrets, and I know |
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There's something pushing back |
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Wish my hands could turn to gold |
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And my heart would break the cold |
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To give my thoughts some sense |
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The turn is close, new century |
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Still people think they're kings |
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Now you've got your voice, |
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Your own speech |
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Don't wait 'till someone else agress |
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Swimming naked of beliefs |
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And responsabilities |
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Just feel the sea of bliss |
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Mother nature brings to me |
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In fantastic purity |
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Everything I need |
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Like a teenager discovery |
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What's more delightful than this? |
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Try to remember how good it was |
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Feeling the life as it is |
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To believe! |
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New world was born out of man's dreams |
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Now we walk on our own |
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The angels cried, you've heard them weep |
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But now it's time to make them sing! |
|
Swimming naked of beliefs |
|
And responsabilities |
|
Just feel the sea of bliss |
|
Mother nature brings to me |
|
In fantastic purity |
|
Everything I need |
|
Like a teenager discovery |
|
What's more delightful than this? |
|
Try to remember how good it was |
|
Feeling the life as it is |
|
To believe! |