| Moving with the grace of night
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| Reaching — grasping for the light
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| Running — try to catch my breath
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| Falling down — there’s nothing left
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| Is it all inside of me?
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| Is it all that you can feel?
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| Is it real?
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| Breathing through a plastic bac
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| Eyes are burnt and skin is scabbed
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| Senses gone and fingers peel
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| Wounds just bleed and never heal
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| Try to sleep but it don’t come
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| Fluid pumped into my lungs
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| No sense of touch — no way to feel
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| How can I tell if this is real?
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| If this is real?
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| Coming back around again
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| Greeted by a blackened grin
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| Open up — there’s something wrong
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| The taste of metal in my tongue
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| Mother’s back — no need to fear
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| Cover me — so I can’t hear
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| Soiled cloth around my face
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| Take me to a better place
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| No sense of touch — no way to feel
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| How can I tell if this is real?
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| If this is real?
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| The television in my head
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| My monitor keeps going dead
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| Communication’s breaking down
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| There’s bodies lying all around
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| Touching the forbidden flesh
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| I want it all and nothing less
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| Wasted limbs and fingers peel
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| How can I tell if this is real?
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| If this is real?
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| Tortured hands don’t lose their grip
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| Pulling 'til my muscles rip
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| I pray to God my soul to take |