| Your grew old and grey, alone in your corner
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| Time passed by so fast, life’s now far behind
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| Every hour is dull, you wither away day by day
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| With loneliness, time to kill, wounds to heal
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| Memories are all that remains now pictures on the wall
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| Sand in your hands, dust in the wind, ghosts of what was
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| Children, they are all across the universe it seems
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| But never here, or almost, mere presence in your head
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| You spend your days between your bed and the toilet
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| Longing for what you just cannot define
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| You weep or stand still, alone with your bones
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| And uncertainty as nightmares unfold
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| Soon, you won’t even remember your name
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| The stories will remain locked in your brain
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| Nailed to your sickbed, understanding nothing
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| Surrounded by strangers, their cold hands on you
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| They ll feed and wash you, cold carcass
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| Simply existing, deprived of the sparkle
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| They won’t answer your questions, you won’t ask
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| Who are you? |
| Where am I? |
| Will it end?
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| And you ll leave the hospital one bleak morning
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| To be buried in an anonymous graveyard
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| Under a pale tombstone and different skies
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| Forever forgotten in the arms of silence |