| A thousand footsteps without direction
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| Adrift like snowfall from winter skies
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| Aimless parades of burning ambivalence
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| Selling false hope in certainty’s guise
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| Living and breathing in sorrow’s colossus
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| The teeming masses await a reply
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| Hoping for something that tastes of deliverance
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| Waiting for answers to fall from the sky
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| Are we just living ghosts
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| Waiting to be freed?
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| Stuck at a tipping point
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| We never dare exceed
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| And what if no one comes
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| To liberate our souls?
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| And all of this is all there is
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| To make us whole?
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| Hidden meanings extracted from vagaries
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| Fruitless missives predicting an end
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| Mere conjecture impersonates prophesy
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| Finding doom in every change of the wind
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| Inside a culture of spiritual violence
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| Demons singing like creatures of light
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| Smiling faces awash in hypocrisy
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| Vending salvation that no one invites
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| Are we just living ghosts
|
| Waiting to be freed?
|
| Stuck at a tipping point
|
| We never dare exceed
|
| And what if no one comes
|
| To liberate our souls?
|
| And all of this is all there is
|
| To make us whole?
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| A thousand questions in search of an answer
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| Seeking a meaning in creation’s design
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| A futile wish for an order in randomness
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| A certain outcome to which we’re resigned
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| Reaching skyward in hope of protection
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| Leading the weak to the feet of the strong
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| Unanswered prayers suggest the conclusion
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| That all we think we know is probably wrong
|
| Are we just living ghosts
|
| Waiting to be freed?
|
| Stuck at a tipping point
|
| We never dare exceed
|
| And what if no one comes
|
| To liberate our souls?
|
| And all of this is all there is
|
| To make us whole? |