| eel, overcome everyone unaware of what we have become
|
| while hunting the numb pleasures
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| like flesh and blood, condemned to rot
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| all ideas other than giving up
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| there must be something more
|
| we must be something more
|
| breathing
|
| breeding
|
| bleeding
|
| dreaming
|
| although we claim that we can not be tamed
|
| that with our guns were the ones to run this game
|
| we may be here to entertain
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| to define ourselves we have identified
|
| the consept of god to cultural needs
|
| no one can get out clean
|
| what comes to mind when snow makes us blind
|
| no doubt the sixth is first one mine
|
| not some divine design
|
| when the ass is riding the nazarene
|
| the slaves of gasoline laugh at what means
|
| unconditional love
|
| unconditional love
|
| god himself is the one who fell
|
| from grace into internal hell
|
| like those who were still seeking
|
| for a reason, for a meaning
|
| explanation to this feeling that
|
| we must be something more
|
| there must be something more
|
| breathing
|
| breeding
|
| bleeding
|
| dreaming
|
| riddles in the altitude
|
| holding on to what’s left of my empathy
|
| can’t lose myself in misantrophy
|
| i know there is still some integrity
|
| the altitude lies in where will be
|
| unconditional love |