| I woke up to nothing but a candle
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| And the vague understanding that my name is Daniel
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| Uncertain of my circumstance, nothing else is substantial
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| I gather fragments of a mind that I might have dismantled
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| The last dregs of oil burning in the lantern
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| Dispel the phantoms that hold my memory to ransom
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| Can I remember the reason that I need to answer them
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| And descend into madness' inner sanctum?
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| A humble hunter-gatherer hunted by gatherers
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| Who are governd by malice in this glum palace of avarice
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| Undr the thumb of Baron Alexander in its utter vastness
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| Some cannot handle this and thus succumb to blackness
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| The kind of dark a pack of matches can’t dispel
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| The kind that violates your mind 'til it’s a lifeless shell
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| You’ve made the drive halfway into your private Hell
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| So finish the trip and enjoy the ride, you might as well
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| No gunpowder, just a tinderbox
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| No flint, no pin for picking the locks
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| No giving up, no going back
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| No hope, no memory, you don’t know jack
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| You can run, you can hide
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| You can shun what’s inside you
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| But I know your mind
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| I will come and will find
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| You can crouch in the dark
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| Can deny I’m inside
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| You are only delay
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| In the day that I find you
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| I haven’t got a trusty weapon with which I can cut and thrust
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| So I keep descending into corridors that are bottomless
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| I cough and splutter on the rotten musk of forgotten husks
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| Knowing the day of reckoning won’t stop at dusk
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| When you ride with the Devil, you can’t be too careful
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| It might be the death of your mind, he’s residing inside you
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| And therefore you’re frightened and fearful
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| Crying and tearful because your life is a vessel
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| Destined to spend every night lying unsettled
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| So no surprise that you’ll be finding it stressful
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| When every thread inside your head unravels
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| Yet nobody’s there to find you dead, I’ve traveled
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| Through the perils of a feral desert, endeavoured
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| But effort’s never sufficient whenever you’re in a position
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| Where decisions you commit to will rip through the firmament
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| And permanently trick you to tip you even further
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| Into the slimy bowels of your private Hell
|
| Where chiming bells ring in the news you finally fell
|
| No gunpowder, just a tinderbox
|
| No flint, no pin for picking the locks
|
| No giving up, no going back
|
| No hope, no memory, you don’t know jack
|
| You can run, you can hide
|
| You can shun what’s inside you
|
| But I know your mind
|
| I will come and will find
|
| You can crouch in the dark
|
| Can deny I’m inside
|
| You are only delay
|
| In the day that I find
|
| You can run, you can hide
|
| You can shun what’s inside you
|
| But I know your mind
|
| I will come and will find
|
| You can crouch in the dark
|
| Can deny I’m inside
|
| You are only delay
|
| In the day that I find you |