| Funeral Blues
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| Aenaon
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| Don’t stand at my grave and cry
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| The human mind can’t conceive the substance
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| Within these borders, no one other exist
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| Don’t mourn for the bravery and freedom
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| Only reapers, reaping the wisdom
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| I force the matter to collide with my mind
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| On the dreadful moments something sparkles inside me
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| On the dreadful omens, there is nothing you can’t redeem
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| I don’t accept this dept of time, so brief
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| The future wounds and sudden grief
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| Inside the body of the elder gloom
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| This picture gave me infinite relief
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| The desolation and the sorrow
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| For those who died, or those who are
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| The only fellow, a rusty gallows
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| Just vicious night, thick like death
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| Dig and watch — Just stones and soil
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| Dig and wonder — It’s necessary end
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| Dig and hear — The rhythm of the silence
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| And whisper the funeral blues
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| Keep fresh the grass upon the grave
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| These roots will always be my chains
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| Like spoils of death are shining with awe
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| By this cell I drowned in the waves
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| A body like ship is ready to sail
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| Which is the quest I ask? |
| Just to be wrecked…
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| This scream is not yours
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| The dead do not lie in your soil
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| They become birds and trees
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| Delivered from mortal flesh
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| No one can see the light, no one can feel
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| The generations yet to come
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| You’re not the one, you’re not the one
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| Always pretending
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| To be able to live the endless path of death
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| Coming and going day and night
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| Descending to earth
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| How do you confront life, life and death
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| Virtue and fear?
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| This vision that every time every time burns inside
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| Will continue forever more… |