| Backwards, I’m covering miles along
|
| A war I’m battling alone
|
| Against waves during a storm
|
| Against golden oceans of grain
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| Between the blueballs and the sand
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| I’m arid and backhand
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| I feel impurest empty
|
| Forlorn, sharpened tempty
|
| Samaritan where I belong
|
| I have been crowned grey inside
|
| This night is neverending
|
| Pitch black, hell descending
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| Gathering into the abyss
|
| I am the enslaved solitaire
|
| Midnight, the candle sputters slow
|
| Illuminates my sins and sakes
|
| As the winter leaves its wakes
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| Starwards, back to back with
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| My unconscious fear to face the truth
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| But tonight I’ll come for you
|
| At first glance I’ll belong to you
|
| At second hand you will taste my irrelevance
|
| At last you will feel my solitude
|
| And you will walk away…
|
| I feel impurest empty
|
| Forlorn, sharpened tempty
|
| Samaritan where I belong
|
| I have been crowned grey inside
|
| This night is neverending
|
| Pitch black, hell descending
|
| Gathering into the abyss
|
| I am the enslaved solitaire
|
| The third is the sympathetic age
|
| And then you will finally have fear
|
| At last you will feel my solitude
|
| And it will be too late… |