| Death it did not take me, death it did not want me
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| My time to come is never, but to kill again, maybe I will be free
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| Your fatal wounds can not put me down or stop my destiny
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| I will arise in an hour with the gift of suffering
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| In my own blood, drowning in my own agony
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| Death left me alone, to heal, to fulfill my prophecy
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| I am left with nothing but this «life»
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| In my mind a stranger, in my gut a knife
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| And death it could not take me, even though I begged
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| On my knees with blood in my eyes, I could not be saved
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| And I have nothing but this unwanted devoir
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| This inability to die, this deadened fervor
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| All was stolen by my murderer
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| And that of actual value was stolen so long before
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| My wounds are now healed and clean
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| I will kill another until I find what should have been
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| … My death, my peace, my long awaited demise
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| My departure from this horrid place, the end of my cries |