| All the misery you create
|
| And all the pain you shape…
|
| You are not to blame, my friend
|
| Somebody filled your empty page
|
| Shaped as we silently wept
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| Confined (as) transformation begins
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| The table was set and then we slept
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| As architects of time
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| So much grief behind the facade
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| And symptoms of certain demise
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| We drown in fragrant illusions
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| Illusions of right and wrong
|
| We clench to a lustful saint
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| Digging graves on top of our lives
|
| Stuffed with values til we choke
|
| I guess we’ve reached the end of the rope
|
| Through the mist, in the haze
|
| The impending doom’s upon us
|
| The dividing blade of nature
|
| And man severed our callow breath
|
| The sun will set
|
| On the blindfolded
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| The self-appointed guardians
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| Are scratching at my door
|
| We kiss their venomous lips
|
| And join the hallowed parade
|
| Flying on paralyzed wings
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| Wondering who we should be
|
| As tyranny becomes normality;
|
| We hang at the end of the rope
|
| Through the mist, in the haze
|
| The impending doom’s upon us
|
| The dividing blade of nature
|
| And man severed our callow breath
|
| The sun will set
|
| On the blindfolded |