| All we can do is heal
|
| Or let it destroy us
|
| Some of our wounds
|
| Come from those around us
|
| While some are self inflicted
|
| By thorns growing from within
|
| But the story remains the same
|
| Once we carry the hurt and shame
|
| All we can do is heal
|
| Or let it destroy us
|
| Destroy us
|
| The wounds that we’re left with
|
| We cannot control
|
| The curse of the pain
|
| Feels like all we know
|
| Until we find the strength
|
| Drawn from the roots below
|
| In blackened soil new power grows
|
| Grows
|
| New power grows
|
| Sentenced to a lesser life
|
| For what we’ve been through
|
| Or growing in ways that we
|
| Never though possible before
|
| Cutting off what can’t survive
|
| So we can let our weakness die
|
| So we can let our weakness die
|
| Die
|
| The wounds that we’re left with
|
| We cannot control
|
| The curse of the pain
|
| Feels like all we know
|
| Until we find the strength
|
| Drawn from the roots below
|
| In blackened soil new power grows
|
| Regeneration comes after death
|
| And virtue from rooting out damage
|
| Cut off what can’t survive
|
| The wounds that we’re left with
|
| We cannot control
|
| The curse of the pain
|
| Feels like all we know
|
| Until we find the strength
|
| Drawn from the roots below
|
| In blackened soil new power grows
|
| Until we find the strength
|
| Drawn from the roots below
|
| In blackened soil new power grows
|
| New power grows |