| The sun ablaze as Maria's foot touches the sand
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| On northern land, as human contraband
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| She got her name passed down to the Boss
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| Now she’s stuck on a truckbed, clutching her cross
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| Yanqui guns, blood debts on the loans
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| Smoldering fields with rape, rubble, and bones
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| Graves hidden, trapped in visions of war
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| She prays to nothing, no one, nobody no more
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| Tear away at the mask
|
| Oh, tear away at the mask
|
| And now she's got a quota, the needle and thread crucifixion
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| Sold and shipped across the new line of Mason Dixon
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| Rippin' through denim, the point an inch from her vein
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| The foreman approaches, his steps pound in her brain
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| His steps pound in her brain
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| Her arms jerks, the sisters gather ’round her and scream
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| As if in a dream, eyes on the crimson stream
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| Numb as her wrists spit blood to the floor
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| I am nothing, no one, nobody no more
|
| Tear away at the mask
|
| Tear away at the mask
|
| Tear away at the mask
|
| Ooh, tear away at the mask
|
| No minute to rest
|
| No moment to pray
|
| No minute to rest
|
| No moment to pray
|
| No minute to rest
|
| It eclipses her day
|
| Just a moment to pray
|
| Just a moment to pray
|
| No minute to rest
|
| No moment to pray
|
| No minute to rest
|
| No moment to pray
|
| No minute to rest
|
| It eclipses her day
|
| Just a moment to pray
|
| Just a moment to pray
|
| Tear away at the mask
|
| Tear away at the mask
|
| Tear away at the mask
|
| Tear away at the mask |