| Whispers fade in the dreams, even fantasy
|
| Can’t deny the pure reality
|
| Disliked the day and was always mad
|
| Filled with anger, laughed at the sad
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| Slept long to await the night
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| The time when it didn’t have to fight
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| Filled with hatred on its greatest height
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| Always knew when the time was right
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| I ask myself: is that me?
|
| Is this what I am supposed to be?
|
| There’s a sign on my neck, a number blackened
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| I’m a creature in this land of fright
|
| Who in this time gave me this role to act?
|
| So corrupt, and thought it was right?
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| Left alone to await the pain
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| Apprehensive, fell down in dismay
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| Never cried, stood there and smiled
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| For it was pure and never insecure
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| Locked in a cage and poked with a stick
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| It was enraged until it got sick
|
| Started to move away from the pain
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| Like a beaten animal locked with a chain
|
| I ask myself: is that me?
|
| Is this what I am supposed to be?
|
| There’s a sign on my neck, a number blackened
|
| I’m a creature in this land of fright
|
| Who in this time gave me this role to act?
|
| So corrupt, and thought it was right?
|
| Wondering; |
| is someone still out there
|
| Someone having blood in his heart left?
|
| Asked; |
| will you give some blood to mine?
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| It’s so cold; |
| it’s empty to the core
|
| If pity was out there and someone still was smart
|
| Only gave a little to this drained heart
|
| Give the creature back a dead organ
|
| See it’s me, and see what I’ve become
|
| I ask myself: is that me?
|
| Is this what I am supposed to be?
|
| There’s a sign on my neck, a number blackened
|
| I’m a creature in this land of fright
|
| Who in this time gave me this role to act?
|
| So corrupt, and thought it was right? |