| We are the inheritors; |
| the evidence of heaven
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| Descendants of a legacy gone but not forgotten
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| We are the inheritors of the grand persuasion
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| Descendants of its masquerade; |
| numb but not defeated
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| Welcome to the silent war, to the world we never hoped to gain
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| The great disguise wandering between two realms
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| One dead the other rarely dwells beyond our eyes
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| Lest we be sorely recognized
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| What little good intentions seem
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| But obviate the bloom of self esteem
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| We’ll save our prayers
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| Inured to wounds from bleeding minds
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| Where wisdom dares not mix with time
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| Never fear; |
| they’ll age they’ll change they’ll disappear
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| In every dance no steps are placed
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| And every path mistakes are made
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| And if all paths lead but to the grave
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| Then let us dance along our way
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| Gliding from room to room all cast in celebrated gloom
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| With no where yet to rest our head
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| Waiting for a door to open from within and bring us home
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| Lest we possess our souls again
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| You are a wonder and I will sing your praise |