| Digging deep down in the vaults
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| Grabbing on to anything that holds
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| Any nerve thats still alive down there
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| Reach your hand into the hole, come up with broken bits of
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| The proof you’re looking for, that you were ever anywhere at all
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| Your '79s. |
| The innocence of simpler times
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| You can’t have them back
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| But could you build this room from scratch if you tried?
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| Close your eyes, cross over to the other side
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| Can you bring him back to life? |
| Recreate Initial State?
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| I remember everything, and I want the fixtures back
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| If I can shut out everything I know
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| I’d trade it all — to conjure one morning of life
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| When all was happy oblivion and nothing was your problem yet
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| You know you can’t have it all
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| But down in the hole, you can lose yourself in shadow worlds
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| What you resist persists, what you look at disappears
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| Then what is this you’re fighting? |
| There’s only smoke and mirrors here
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| You’re all alone in a long dead broken home
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| Staring down the boy lost in a midnight move so many lives ago
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| In a living room encased in formaldehyde
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| The body floats, stares right back into your eyes
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| And he says «Sir can’t you take me with you?
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| I’ve been here all these years
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| There’s nothing tactile in this room.»
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| He says «Sir please take me with you
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| I am your missing proof
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| We’ll take the other side
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| And bomb it all back to the womb.»
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| Close your eyes. |
| Crawl inside
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| All your spells can’t bring him back to life |