| We are born of stone
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| And etched by wind
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| Cast aside to live or die
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| We are the pawns in our own game
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| Like refugees
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| Of silent war
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| We step on ever-shifting ground
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| Promoting what we undermine
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| For countless days
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| We walked alone
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| Directionless and vulnerable
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| Sitting targets wearing smiles
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| No one of us will go unscathed
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| By private battles we have braved
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| A vicious circle we have built
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| Constructed from our shame and guilt
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| The flags we wave
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| Are set afire
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| To warm the bones of infant dreams
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| Even as our present is set ablaze
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| The tinderbox
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| We sit upon
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| Decays in churning mists of fog
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| And crumbles down into the sea
|
| No one of us will go unscathed
|
| By private battles we have braved
|
| A vicious circle we have built
|
| Constructed from our shame and guilt
|
| We lie embraced
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| In the arms of dawn
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| The fading echoes of pointless time
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| Statuettes of ignorance
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| And even as
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| The clock hand sweeps
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| We pay no mind to where we are
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| Surely we’re not allowed to die
|
| No one of us will go unscathed
|
| By private battles we have braved
|
| A vicious circle we have built
|
| Constructed from our shame and guilt |