| Something ripped me open
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| From my little death woken
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| The fading rhythm of a lifeline
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| Is music for a dead child
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| I’m skirting the rim
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| Skirting the rim of reality
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| Skirting the rim
|
| Love, don’t pull me in
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| Somehow everything is broken
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| Hours past and never replayed
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| I sing the sickness of a love that
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| Though it lives, can never be made
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| There are cracks where
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| The white light burns through
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| Seems I see everything but the truth
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| Once more to that sacred place
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| The dream that sucks me under
|
| I’m skirting the rim
|
| Skirting the rim of reality
|
| Skirting the rim
|
| Love, don’t pull me in
|
| Somehow everything is broken
|
| Hours past and never replayed
|
| I sing the sickness of a love that
|
| Though it lives, can never be made
|
| Somehow everything is clearer now
|
| Hours pass with never a relief
|
| I sing the sadness of a moment
|
| Though it lived was never seen, seen, seen |