| The mark of my pen, where should I begin
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| Well I am the ink and the ink is running thin
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| There’s a weight on my chest, not atop but within
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| Begging me each day to stop and give in
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| Like an ocean of water, cold, black and dim
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| I am the ink and the ink is running thin
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| It’s running thin, it’s running thin
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| I am the glue that holds this house together
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| Cracked and faded through all the years I’ve measured
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| My success as a man on my every endeavor
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| Falling short once again, comfort no pleasure
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| Alone in the dark, I wait out the weather
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| 'Coz I am the glue but this house is not together
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| It’s not together, it’s falling down
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| I am the sun as the last light hits the sea
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| I shine for a moment before night consumes me
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| I search for salvation, but they won’t let me be
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| I’m nothing to no one try to set these thoughts free
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| My mind a dead forest, my heart a hollow tree
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| I am the sun and the last lights hit the sea
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| And that is where I’ll live, and will forever be
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| Held by night’s captivity
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| So when that sunbeam shines for your eyes to see
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| Know that I am the sun and the last lights hit the sea
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| It’s hit the sea |